


The Last Temptation of Sam Winchester

by Telaryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Dark, Depression, Dream Sex, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rescue, Secret Identity, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war between heaven and hell is dragging on, and the body count is getting increasingly personal for Sam and Dean.  Lucifer is out of  patience and out of time.  Working with a heavenly turncoat, he ambushes the boys in the Nevada desert, spiriting Sam away to an oubliette with the intent of torturing and tempting him until he consents to embrace his destiny as Lucifer's vessel.  Losing Sam is Dean's final straw - he abandons the mission, grows increasingly distant from Castiel, and throws all his energy into finding and saving Sam.</p><p>Sam's first temptation is an appeal to his White Knight complex - will he consent in order to save the damsel in distress?</p><p>The second temptation is family - he is offered enough power to restore his dead family to life.</p><p>The final temptation is Dean, who despite an unexpected assist from a mysterious stranger, is rapidly losing hope of reaching Sam in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BOOK ONE: THE STORY SO FAR

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2010 SPN-J2-Bigbang on Livejournal.
> 
> This piece with all its bumps and bruises is dedicated to Nyxocity. She's a great friend, an amazing and inspirational writer, and is the reason I started writing darker SPN fic in the first place.
> 
> It probably wouldn't exist if it weren't for her support.
> 
> Thanks, Nyx!

**BOOK ONE: THE STORY SO FAR…**

Chapter One: _Sam_

Lucifer was wrong. 

Sam didn’t say yes in May, in Detroit, as the Devil had promised he would. The battle had been every bit as epic as they’d been lead to believe it was going to be. Lucifer had sent legions of possessed humans to slow them down, while he slaughtered others to create a bulwark between himself and the brothers. Dean took the worst of the damage; by the time they reached a point where they couldn’t force their way any closer, he was on his knees – bleeding from so many wounds Sam had lost count.

Through all the chaos, Sam never lost sight of what he needed to do. The skies over the city were burning and three more people died screaming in front of him as he stared Lucifer down and told him “no”.

It was a tiny victory in the larger picture of the war. The knowledge that he’d been strong enough to refuse Lucifer at a point where the Devil had been sure he’d cave would end up being enough to carry Sam through the summer, and well into September. 

Once he caught up with them, Castiel healed Dean as well as he could. It hadn’t been anywhere near what it needed to be, but Sam had seen for himself just how much effort had gone into what Cas had managed to do.

“He’s running out of juice,” he said to Dean the next morning. Sam had been wrestling most of the night with whether he should lay things out or not. Cas had gone to steal them some food, and Dean had been complaining about how much everything still hurt. It wasn’t anything specific – Sam was reasonably sure Dean wasn’t trying to blame Cas for his condition – but it was enough that Sam had ended up blurting out his suspicion.

Dean hadn’t said anything right away – letting the statement hang in the air for a long moment.

“I know,” he said finally.

He hadn’t elaborated, and Sam hadn’t pushed. Dean was in no shape for an argument, and between them they had reached a level of screwed where degrees and particulars really didn’t matter anymore. 

They ended up drugging Dean almost into a coma that night, just to let him get some sleep. Sam stayed with him until he was sure he hadn’t miscalculated the dose and risked sending his brother into a coma. It was nearly three in the morning when he finally stumbled outside – unable to take the dust and the gloom of their hideout one second longer.

“I tried,” Cas said, before Sam even had a chance to speak. “I used every bit of power at my disposal. His injuries were too great.”

Sam sat down heavily on the edge of the porch, trying to ignore the creak of overstressed lumber. “I know,” he said, toeing the dirt with his boot.

He couldn’t look at the angel. Sam didn’t resent Castiel his weakness – the angel had always been upfront with them that any power he had was only going to last as long as his heavenly reserves held out. Once those batteries were drained, there was no going back.

And the timing of that moment was never going to be good – intellectually Sam understood that as well. Castiel was still their best weapon against the forces hunting them, however, and the idea that they were soon going to be without that assistance was almost more than he could cope with. _Not now._

He packed the Impala himself, as the sun was clearing the horizon. Dean needed rest and space to recover from his injuries, and that meant South Dakota. 

Progress was slow when they finally left Michigan. Sam drove the entire way, refusing to do anything to risk Dean’s condition deteriorating – no matter how many curses his brother hurled at him. Once they finally reached the salvage yard, Bobby had backed Sam entirely; demanding the keys to the Impala and putting them both on ten days of enforced R & R.

“Apocalypse’ll still be there,” he’d said as Sam helped Dean upstairs.

It was June when they finally hit the road again. True to Bobby’s pronouncement, there was more than enough to keep them busy – although direct confrontations with Lucifer seemed to have backed off to a manageable level. “Almost,” Dean said, “as if he’s got bigger fish to fry.”

Which was a worrying concept in and of itself, as far as Sam was concerned.

They took full advantage of the lull – researching every bit of lore they could get their hands on, performing routine maintenance on their weapons and the Impala, and sometimes actually resting.

In late July, Dean answered a call from a homicide detective in South Missouri. “It’s Cassie,” was all he’d said at first, but Sam had known immediately from his expression that whatever had happened it wasn’t good.

“Hope you boys have strong stomachs,” was the detective’s opening line. Sam tried to reach for the photos first, but Dean beat him to the stack.

Cassie Robinson – the only woman Dean had ever let himself fall in love with, as far as Sam knew – had been found by a couple of farmers nailed to a crudely fashioned cross. Three photos in, Sam had all the proof he needed that she’d been tortured before her death. His brain helpfully filled in the rest of the scenario before he even started reading the preliminary autopsy report. _Multiple violations…contusions…demonic symbols carved in her flesh..._

The coroner’s report hadn’t actually said the symbols were demonic, of course. Sam was morbidly amused to note how carefully they avoided committing to any identification of the images or their meaning.

“Mr. Winchester,” the detective finally said to Dean, apparently deciding that they’d had enough time to take in the horror of what had happened, “when was the last time you spoke with Ms. Robinson?”

Sam was surprised that they’d thought to track Dean down, but the idea that the local authorities were considering Dean a “person of interest” didn’t surprise him in the slightest. If you paired the fact of his past involvement with Cassie with the rumors that seemed to follow them everywhere they traveled, Sam knew Dean was the best suspect traditional law enforcement was ever likely to dig up. He stood a near-silent watch throughout the entire ordeal of questioning – Dean’s alibi and defender.

He was ready to step in at the slightest indication his brother was faltering under the pressure, but Dean managed to answer every question put to him simply and smoothly; even denying knowledge of the message scrawled on the parchment the police had found stuffed in Cassie’s mouth.

_She died that you might live._

No arrests were made, but the detective who questioned Dean had been insistent about them sticking around for a while. Dean hadn’t fought the suggestion. “This means something,” he told Sam that night once they were settled in their motel room. “That message was meant for me. If we’ve got the time, I want to find out why they did this.”

Sam hadn’t argued. He didn’t have the emotional connection to Cassie that Dean had, and the pictures they’d looked through still ranked in his personal top five of the most gruesome things he’d ever seen. Closure would have been nice. Justice would have been better.

They had neither by the time Bobby called in mid-August with word of something major brewing in upstate New York. “I may have something else,” he said, after giving Sam the pertinent details. “It’s risky as hell, but if Satan does show his face…”

Sam had scribbled down the details, and relayed the information to Dean. “Gonna take a major distraction,” he said, reading over what he’d written, “but this could work.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said, glancing quickly at Sam. “You’ve got the perfect distraction in mind?”

The argument that followed took them to within twenty miles of their destination. They rehashed objections they’d voiced to each other millions of times, and it all meant nothing when they discovered the corral of Lucifer’s intended sacrifices. Fifty civilians – fifty innocent lives against the risk of Sam continuing to put himself directly in Lucifer’s path. Sam didn’t know why Dean hadn’t gone immediately racing off on the “greatest good” angle to keep him out of the fight, but under the circumstances he was smart enough not to question getting his way. 

It was the last time he would taste victory for a good, long while. The best that could be said about the entire operation was that this time Sam hadn’t had to stand knee deep in corpses when he faced off with Lucifer. The Devil had even stood patiently and listened as Sam made his case.

When he was finished talking, Sam stood and waited for Lucifer’s response. Nothing happened for an uncomfortably long time. There was no anger, no sadness from the Devil – no emotional response whatsoever to Sam basically telling him to fuck off and die.

Then…suddenly…Lucifer snapped his fingers. Thunder rumbled overhead. The ground shook under Sam’s feet.

And off in the distance, the fifty people Dean had been busy trying to save were slaughtered.

There had been little point in continuing Bobby’s ritual in the chaos that followed. Lucifer vanished just as the earth was starting to crack under Sam’s feet. He ran as best he could, heading straight for where he’d left his brother.

He found Dean on his knees, staring transfixed at the raw carnage that used to be fifty living people. Blood was everywhere, and Sam knew they didn’t have time to figure out how much of it was Dean’s. “Come on!” he yelled over the noise of reality trying to rip itself apart around them. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

There was no response from Dean – no indication that he knew Sam was even there. _No…_ Sam thought, fighting back the horrified awareness that something had gone deeply wrong. Praying it was nothing worse than shock, he finally balled his fist in Dean’s shirt and physically dragged him to his feet. They reached the Impala, but it was one of the closest calls they’d had yet.

The trip back to South Dakota was a flat-out nightmare. They burned through a full tank of gas before Sam dared stop driving. He used the break to finally determine for himself that Dean hadn’t taken any physical injuries when the meat grinder had hit Lucifer’s victims. He was still only marginally responsive to Sam’s questions – speaking in monosyllables, when he spoke at all. It went on long enough that by the time they pulled into Bobby’s, Sam was starting to question his initial diagnosis of shock.

Whatever he’d witnessed while Sam had been facing down the Devil had finally broken something inside Dean; something Sam was terrified they were never going to be able to fix.

He knew Bobby saw it too. The hunter took one look at Dean and absolutely refused to talk about anything apocalyptic with either of them for nearly three days. He’d scowled disapprovingly when Sam had gone into the Impala’s trunk and brought an armload of guns into the kitchen, but as worried as he was Bobby knew the wisdom of taking care of the weapons whenever the free moments presented themselves.

The forces of Heaven and Hell waited for no one.

Castiel showed up at Bobby’s a little over ten days later, with word of a miracle in southern Texas.

“You up for it?” Sam asked Dean. He knew Dean had long ago dismissed Cas’s entire quest to find God as “crap”, but it wasn’t like they were drowning in options at this point. 

Dean had shrugged. “Might as well.” With Bobby’s grudging support, they’d packed the car and headed out the next morning. Castiel had met them at the site – teleportation being one of the few things the angel was still capable of doing.

Against all conceivable odds, there had been enough tangible evidence of a miracle on the ground that they didn’t even argue about setting up shop in a nearby motel and digging in for however long it took.

Everything they found was fed back to Bobby, who collated and cross-referenced until he had a new direction to send them in. The clues were never cut and dried, but one thing finally did lead to another and another after that, until Sam began to hope they might finally be going somewhere productive.

They chased leads and fought off demons until late September – the twenty-third, to be exact. Sam knew he would never forget the date. Dean had been on the phone with Bobby, nodding his head impatiently at whatever fresh intel the other hunter had. Months later, Sam would still be able to close his eyes and picture the moment Dean had frozen in his frantic pacing, and the color had drained from his face. 

Sam had been hypnotized by the effect at the time, even as Dean’s eyes went wide, and he unleashed a stream of invective at the phone. Sam had leaped forward immediately, grappling Dean for the handset as his brother’s screams of rage grew increasingly incoherent. 

“Bobby?” It was a ridiculous, fruitless hope, but he’d been grasping at straws.

“Guess again, Sam.”

Three simple words, and the bottom finally dropped out of Sam Winchester’s world.

*****************************************

Chapter Two: _Dean_

As far as Dean was concerned, the war had left him with only two choices – keep going or die. He no longer saw the world in terms of wins and losses. Whenever possible, he tried not to think at all. His entire world had shrunk down to the reality that he was going to personally kill the Devil, or die horribly in the attempt.

Through it all, Sam remained his anchor to the physical world. Sam was the one who could get him to eat when no one else could. Sam watched him constantly, ready to step in at the slightest sign that Dean was spinning off the rails.

He started every day now knowing that Sam had his back. It was his island of sanity in an increasingly insane world, and it was the only thing that kept him from eating the business end of his pistol that afternoon in late September when they’d gotten the call about Bobby.

His memories of those first hopeless hours were sketchy at best. He’d recovered enough to wrestle his phone back from Sam, who had also managed to scream himself hoarse cursing the demon responsible. No words were needed between them – Sam was in the car before Dean could say anything.

Strategically it wasn’t a smart move, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. Dean knew Cas wasn’t happy about them abandoning the mission, especially when the clues finally seemed to be leading somewhere encouraging. For once in his life however, he chose not to say anything – merely watching as the Impala tore off in a spray of dust and gravel.

They’d driven straight through, changing places behind the wheel just often enough to keep moving forward. Conversation had been sparse; the only thing pushing them was their need to get to South Dakota, to confirm for their hearts what they both already understood to be true.

“We’re assuming it’s a trap,” Dean said as he pulled into the yard. He didn’t phrase it as a question.

Sam didn’t take it as one. “Absolutely,” he said, slapping a full magazine into his pistol.

They left the Impala in the stacks of junk that surrounded the house – as hidden from view as Dean could manage – and went the rest of the way on foot.

They moved as a single unit, sweeping the area for any sign of an ambush. The closer they got to the house, the more Dean found himself clinging to the fact that every time he glanced at Sam his brother was right where he was supposed to be. _You’re not alone. Whatever’s in there, you don’t have to face it alone._

The porch door had been blown inward off its hinges. Peering through the door, Dean saw it upside down on the opposite wall of the kitchen.

Sam lightly bumped his shoulder, bringing him back on task. He waited until Sam had swept his part of the room and repositioned, then cross-stepped forward and did his sector. He froze, weapon up, waiting for Sam to repeat the process.

“Dean…”

Dean closed his eyes, struggling with a desire to run. He didn’t want to face it – couldn’t wrap his brain around whatever waited in the next room. _Dammit, Bobby…_

Bad as Cassie’s murder had been, they’d only ever seen photos. Dean knew Sam had been worried about him dealing with it, but while he’d still held a place in his heart for her, his feelings for Cassie Robinson were a long time ago.

Bobby was different. Bobby was family. 

There was so much blood. That was the first real fact he was able to process when he moved around the corner and finally saw the carnage for himself. His brain kept trying to distract him by how it seemed to be everywhere in the library, at distances that defied his understanding of this kind of slaughter.

Anything to keep from focusing on the center of the ugliness, and dealing with what had been done to one of the most important people in his life.

Sam made a small sound, startling Dean out of his mental retreat and back into the moment. The smell hit him then – he immediately forced himself to take shallow quick breaths in order to keep from emptying his stomach onto the threadbare carpet.

_You can do this. You **have** to do this._

The demons had driven screwdrivers through each of Bobby’s wrists, pushing them through flesh, tendon and probably bone, into the fabric of the wheelchair’s arm rests. Bobby had definitely struggled – _makes sense,_ Dean thought – but the pain had to have been unimaginable.

His throat had been cut, but the stroke wasn’t smooth. _They tortured him,_ Dean thought, reaching out a shaking hand to touch the older man’s cheek. However long Bobby had lived after the aborted phone call, it hadn’t been easy or quick.

“Dean, no.” Sam gently grabbed his wrist, holding him back. Still dealing with the horror in front of him, Dean rounded on his brother.

Sam’s expression was sympathetic, but firm. “We need to finish checking the house. Trap, remember?”

He wanted to argue – there was a panicked voice screaming in his head that they had to deal with Bobby’s corpse _now_. He had to make the scene in front of them disappear as if it had never happened. He nodded at Sam, though, tightening his grip on his pistol. Facts were facts. They needed to secure the house and themselves before anything else, or Bobby’s death had been worse than useless.

 _Besides…maybe we’ll catch something._ The thought was more cheerful than it probably should have been. He needed something to fight – something to shoot – anything to chase away the feeling of helplessness that was poised to devour him.

They found nothing. The message in Bobby’s death seemed to be that Hell could reach them at any time, in any place and any way.

“You know, I can handle this part,” Sam said gently, once they’d returned to the library. “You start getting the wood together.”

Dean met his brother’s gaze squarely, even though it was an effort. “Don’t manage me, Sam. Not now.” He holstered his pistol and steeled himself to approach the corpse. “I can do this.”

Removing the screwdrivers was the hardest part. Dean took one – Sam took the other – and they pulled together. Dean couldn’t stop a shudder rippling through his body as the sound and feel of metal against flesh and bone seemed to resonate deep in his gut.

Everything after that moment seemed to pass in a blur. They caught Bobby between them before the corpse could slide out of the wheelchair, and carried him to the bed he’d been using since his accident. Laying him out and cleaning him up was a mercifully quick process.

“I want to put him in something different,” Sam said, checking the closets in the tiny makeshift bedroom. Under ordinary circumstances Dean would have given Sam all kinds of grief for worrying about fashion at a time like this, but he couldn’t help agreeing with him. They couldn’t save Bobby, but the least they could do was send him off with dignity.

“I’ll get started on the wood,” he said. He managed to keep from running out of the house, but it was a very near thing.

It was well after midnight before they finally put torch to kindling. Dean was distantly aware of tears on his cheeks, but he dismissed it as an effect of the smoke. He couldn’t afford the luxury of grief – neither of them could.

_Keep moving forward or die._

“You want a beer?” Sam asked as they went back into the house two hours later. The pyre had burned itself out. Bobby was gone.

Dean shook his head, unable to muster the energy to form words. Sam seemed to understand. “We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.”

He’d been walking slightly in front of Dean as they went upstairs together. Without giving himself a chance to second-guess the impulse that suddenly took hold of him, Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist, pulling him back.

“Dean, what..?”

Before he could say anything else, Dean kissed him – open mouthed and hungry, hands fisted in Sam’s hair as he held him still. 

It took only a second for Sam to catch on; grabbing Dean by the arms, he’d spun him around so that his back was against the wall. He’d had a moment to catch his breath, then Sam had him by the wrists – pinning them to the cheap paneling as he resumed kissing Dean for all he was worth.

Dean felt his cock stiffen in his jeans as he flexed against Sam’s grip and was forced to acknowledge that in a contest of strength with his little brother these days, he’d probably lose.

It wasn’t a bad thought, he realized, as Sam tongued the sensitive skin on the underside of his jaw – making him groan with pleasure.

“Cross your wrists,” Sam growled in his ear – voice thick and dark with promise. “Over your head.”

Shivering, his breath catching slightly in his throat, Dean obeyed. Locking eyes with him, Sam slowly wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrists – holding him in place with one hand. Sam’s free hand tugged at Dean’s belt buckle, working the catch loose, and then moving to the metal button at his waist. “Think you can stay on your feet?”

Dean had started to make a smart-ass remark, but then Sam had his cock – one slow, hard stroke was all it took to drive conscious thought entirely out of his mind. Licking suddenly dry lips, Dean nodded at his brother. Sam continued to fist his cock, watching Dean’s reactions as he let go control little by little… _inch by inch…_

When Dean’s hips were starting to make small thrusting motions – urging Sam to increase the pace, Sam let go. Before Dean could recover enough to protest, Sam had gone to his knees – swallowing him deep enough that Dean could feel the head of his cock nudging Sam’s throat.

The sound that he made was part moan, part scream – nerves on overload, muscles holding him momentarily rigid against the wall. His hands came down from over his head, slapping sharply against the paneling, so that he didn’t risk grabbing Sam too roughly.

A hum vibrated up from Sam’s throat; Dean had a moment to wonder if his brother was laughing at him, then Sam did something with his tongue and Dean suddenly couldn’t think - couldn’t breathe right…

Threading his fingers into the tangle of Sam’s hair, Dean held on as reality became a molten blur of heat and pressure…tongue and the barest scrape of teeth…and through it all Sam’s head bobbing back and forth…

 _Spiraling of nerves…body low and tight…_ So much pleasure in a few such simple movements.

“Jesus - !” he gasped, hands tightening on Sam’s head as he felt himself start to come. There was a ghost of a pause in Sam’s rhythm, and then he was swallowing…sucking even harder than before…milking everything Dean had to give.

His vision greying around the edges, Dean felt himself start to slide down the wall. Sam’s hands were suddenly on his hips, holding him securely upright as they rode out the aftershocks together.

An eternity seemed to pass, before Dean heard Sam asking, “You all right up there?”

Focusing with effort, Dean nodded – a quick, jerky movement that nearly set the hallway spinning around him. “Damn,” he whispered hoarsely.

The ghost of a pleased smile was on Sam’s lips. Even in the dim light, Dean saw a drop of milky fluid clinging to the corner of his lips. Using his thumb, he wiped it away, and then held it out.

Keeping his eyes locked on Dean, Sam wrapped his lips around Dean’s thumb, thoroughly laving his tongue across the calloused pad until another small aftershock shivered through Dean’s body, and there was no question he’d gotten it all.

There was too much emotion in Sam’s eyes when he finally let Dean go and sat back on his heels. _Here it comes,_ Dean thought – bracing himself for whatever deep, feelings-oriented conversation Sam suddenly thought they needed to have.

To his surprise, the only thing Sam said was, “I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, brushing strands of sweat-soaked hair back off Sam’s forehead. “That’s okay,” he said finally. “I’m not ready to sleep yet anyway.”

He would try later to rationalize that night away as him sparing Sam the effort of having to ask, since the subject of sex was going to come up anyway. The truth was, however, that on the heels of losing Bobby he’d needed to feel the reality of Sam in his arms – probably even more than his brother had needed to be held. It had been so long since they’d had the freedom to do anything for themselves, so long since Dean had allowed anything good into his soul, that reaching out to Sam had been the logical thing to do.

Bobby’s will, if such things had any meaning anymore, had left everything to the two of them. “Divided equally” was the legal phrase Sam had read out to him over breakfast.

“We’ll keep the house,” was all Dean had said by way of reply, before they locked the door and hit the road.

They’d met up with Cas in Nevada, tracking a lead through Laughlin. Dean had almost cracked a smile – his first in far too long – on seeing Castiel’s struggle against being constantly surrounded by so many lights and bells, and so much sin. _Kind of like waking up one morning in downtown Sodom and Gommorah._

Halloween had found them heading north, near Reno, looking for a modern-day Shaman that supposedly had a ritual designed to summon and trap the Horsemen. 

“Everything we know says that Lucifer draws strength from the Horsemen,” Sam said. “If we can take his generals…”

Dean had his doubts, but nothing better to offer by way of a plan.

Then they were ambushed just south of Tonopah. War appeared out of nowhere on the deserted highway, his red Mustang speeding at them, nose aimed directly at the Impala’s grille. It was a clear challenge, and for a moment Dean was tempted to take him up on it.

Sam’s quiet intake of breath as he braced himself against the dashboard helped anchor Dean one more time. He held his position just long enough to make a point, and then turned out.

“I’m gonna kill that sonofabitch,” Dean growled as the Impala buried its wheels in the sand – effectively trapping them in place.

Sam was staring transfixed at the rearview mirror. “Hope that was a plan, and not just wishful thinking.”

Alerted by the tone in his brother’s voice, Dean looked over his shoulder and saw that a small army had somehow appeared out of nowhere – moving into position behind them. “Okay. They’re not fooling around anymore, are they?”

They grabbed whatever weapons were at hand in the car itself, and bailed out – not willing to risk the time getting into the trunk. The fight that followed would have done General Custer proud. Dean went at it with a pistol in one hand and holy water in the other – not stopping to dwell on the fact that these were possessed humans. It was the ultimate kill or be killed situation, and when push came to shove he wasn’t ready to die just yet.

Dean tried to keep an eye on Sam as he fought off attack after attack, but as the seconds ticked by he found himself being inched farther and farther away from the Impala and his brother. It was a classic divide and conquer strategy, complicated by darkness and desperation.

A brilliant flash of light drew his attention back to the far side of the car, where Sam was fighting for his own life and safety. Dean thought in the heat of the moment that the light meant Sam had finally succumbed to temptation and was using his powers again. As the darkness started to bleed back in around the sparks, however, he saw a figure looming behind his brother. Sam had gotten sloppy, and let himself get flanked by someone.

“Sam! No!” Dean had lunged forward, only to find his path blocked by Lucifer. The Devil had smiled at him, and it wasn’t a friendly grin at all.

“Sam and I need some one on one time,” he’d said, striking Dean across the face with an impossibly powerful backhand.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

*****************************************


	2. BOOK TWO: LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION

Chapter One: _The First Temptation_

Head pounding, his mouth cotton-dry, Sam Winchester opened his eyes and seriously considered the possibility that he was dead.

It would have explained a lot.

He flexed his hands, and felt the soft scratch of sandy soil against his skin. _Where am I?_ Darkness muffled his vision almost perfectly, but he could sense walls and a ceiling just beyond his reach.

Sitting back on his heels with only a small grunt of pain, Sam extended his arms and tried to get a sense of how big the space around him might be. After he’d swept the space around and over him, he felt confident enough to try and stand.

“You might as well relax.” The voice, coming out of the darkness, was so unexpected that Sam flinched violently – barely managing to stay upright.

 _Not possible…_ “Let me see you,” he said, his voice raw against his throat. “Turn on some damn lights.” He shifted around into a crouch – facing the general area the voice had come from.

“Calm down, Sam.” Soft light filled the room – momentarily blinding him. His companion was a blur against the far wall of the room; tiny, dark, and unmistakably female. And, coupled with the voice, awfully, painfully familiar.

“Stop it,” he said, blinking furiously to help his eyes adjust.

“You asked for light.”

His vision finally resolved, showing him a face from his past. Memories of the last time he’d looked into those impossibly large eyes crashed over him. 

_Madison._

“No,” he said fiercely, shaking his head in denial. “No. You don’t get to be her. Anyone but her. Be Jessica again – I don’t care. Just don’t be her.”

Madison’s features shivered, resolving into the pock-marked, decaying form of Lucifer’s temporary vessel. “I’ll indulge you this one time, Sam,” Lucifer said. “You’re not at your best.” He leaned forward; close enough that Sam fell on his ass trying to scrabble away from him.

“I need you to understand something, though,” Lucifer continued. “You aren’t calling the shots right now.”

This close, looking into his eyes, Sam believed him. The game had definitely changed – why now, he had no idea. He and Dean had discussed the possibility of the Devil eventually losing patience with Sam’s constant stream of denials, and what that might mean for the two of them, but they hadn’t expected it to be quite this quickly.

He took a deep breath. “What do you want?” Sam was reasonably sure Lucifer still didn’t want to kill or damage him, but the angels had already shown him how flexible their ideas of damage could be when it came to humans. He really wasn’t looking forward to experiencing what Lucifer had in mind.

Smiling, Lucifer straightened up and extended a hand. Without coming out and saying exactly what he thought of the gesture, Sam inched back until he could feel the dirt wall behind him. Digging his fingers in, he levered himself into a standing position.

Lucifer’s pout as he watched Sam was almost comical. “I was just offering to help.”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Sam said, steadying himself against the wall. _I’m underground,_ he realized, seeing the walls and ceiling clearly for the first time. The dirt was pale – almost white – and it surrounded them on all sides. There was a faintly bitter tang in the air. _Bonneville Salt Flats?_ he wondered, remembering that they hadn’t been all that far north of that part of western Utah when they’d been attacked.

The engineering of his prison defied any sort of logic Sam had at his disposal. _An oubliette,_ he realized, _in the literal sense of the word._ If he was right, he had no way out – and the freaky light source that seemed to increase and decrease at Lucifer’s whim was going to be the least of Sam’s concerns.

Lucifer watched quietly as Sam studied and analyzed his surroundings, then finally he sighed with impatience. “While I am impressed that you’ve held out as long as you have, Sam – your stubbornness is starting to impact my timetable. Not to mention leaving you on the outside is keeping the body count unacceptably high among my foot soldiers.”

“So I’m going to kill two birds with one stone,” he continued, brightening somewhat. “I remove you from play, and I get your undivided attention while I try to convince you to give in to your destiny.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Sam said, his voice shaking in spite of his resolve.

Lucifer waved a hand dismissively. “I know, I know – you’re going to rip my heart out. Fine.” He paused, and his expression sobered. “I saw how you reacted to my first form though, Sam. You have more weaknesses than you’re willing to admit.”

A shudder rippled through Sam’s body as he remembered Madison’s beautiful, haunted eyes looking across the dungeon at him. If the Devil was taking this route, Sam was already in serious trouble. “I’ll kill myself first,” he said finally.

“You won’t,” Lucifer said. “Seriously Sam – just relax. Think of it as my own personal Power Point presentation.” He grinned, and Sam felt the air around them grow significantly colder. “You might even enjoy some of it.”

Sam backed as far away as he could, until his back sank slightly into the soft wall of dirt. “I doubt that,” he said, abandoning all attempts at keeping his voice steady.

Lucifer cocked his head to one side, sniffing the air. “So afraid, already? Oh Sam…” He paused, and Sam could feel the menace coming off him. “That’s good. That’s very, very good.”

He clapped his hands together sharply, and rubbed his palms together briskly. “Let’s see. First temptation. Why don’t we go with the obvious one?” He held his left hand out to the side at shoulder height, fingers curved as if he was gripping something Sam couldn’t see. “Play to that white knight martyr complex you’ve got going.” He smiled. “See if I can convince you to sacrifice yourself to save the damsel in distress.”

Green mist began spiraling out from Lucifer’s hand, swirling up and down in a concentrated space until it started to take the shape of a woman. _Not Madison,_ Sam thought. _Please not Madison._ Being forced face to face with the woman he’d shot and killed so many years ago would bring out weaknesses Sam couldn’t afford to show right now.

The mist began to dissipate, showing that Lucifer was, indeed, holding a naked woman by the throat. Her frame was much too large to be Madison, however – the hair a lighter shade of brown. Sam couldn’t see much of her face; a thick black blindfold covered her eyes. Her hands were tightly bound behind her back. A layer of sweat shone on her skin, reflecting the dim light Lucifer had created, and even at the distance he stood away from them, Sam could tell she was trembling.

“Let her go,” he said without thinking of the consequences of buying into whatever Lucifer had created right off the bat.

The Devil gave him a sidelong glance, and a wicked grin. “So soon? Don’t you even want to know who we have here?” He turned his full attention back to his prisoner. “Tell Sam your name, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” The woman’s voice was terrified and confused, but familiar. “Sam Winchester?”

Sam racked his memories, trying to place where he knew her from. She’d been important to him once, reaching into the well of his grief after Jessica’s death and showing him there was a way out. “Sarah,” he said, his stomach churning. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

“Sam?” There was true terror in her voice as she turned her face blindly towards him. “Sam? Help me!”

Lucifer trailed a scabbed, flaking hand down Sarah’s chest, caressing the curve of her breast. “He won’t help you, pretty thing. He’s sitting over there right now, trying to convince himself that you’re nothing but an illusion.” He circled her nipple with a fingertip, tracing the outline slowly. “In fact,” he continued, “I’m betting that even though he can stop me at any moment, Sam is going to just sit there and watch while I have some fun with you.”

“No,” Sam said, but the protest was half-strangled in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his side as he struggled to keep from launching himself at Lucifer. _This can’t be real. It’s a trick. It’s an illusion._ “Let her go.” Attacking the Devil ran the risk of proving that the woman in his grip was real – was actually Sarah Blake – and Sam’s brain refused to wrap itself around that possibility.

Lucifer turned towards him, blinking in studied surprise. “Let her go? That’s the best you can do here, Sam? I have to say, I’m disappointed.” He turned back to face Sarah again, his free hand dropping lower…forcing itself between her thighs.

She screamed and sobbed – Sam saw her hips buck reflexively however, and realized Lucifer had penetrated her. All sense of strategy and caution flew out of his head in a rush; Sam threw himself forward, his only conscious thought that even if he died in the attempt he was going to get Lucifer to let Sarah go.

He made it two steps before slamming into an unyielding, invisible barrier. The impact knocked most of the air out of his chest.

Lucifer didn’t flinch. Keeping his eyes on Sarah’s face he said, “Yes, Lucifer – I agree to be your vessel.” He did something with his hand that Sam couldn’t see, but Sarah’s screaming redoubled as a result. “Really Sam – that’s all you have to say.”

“Fuck you,” Sam growled, hot tears falling down his cheeks. Sarah’s near mindless fear twisted at his insides until he felt like he was going to be sick. _She doesn’t deserve this,_ he thought. _God, she doesn’t deserve any of it._

 _She matters to you. That’s enough._ In the end this would be no different than what had been done to Cassie Robinson or why – the only difference was that Sam was going to be forced to watch this horror play itself out.

“Sam? Sam – oh God, Sam – please help me!” 

“I can’t,” he said, hating himself with that one simple admission more than he would have thought possible. “Sarah – God, I’m sorry. I can’t.” He swallowed…tasted bile at the back of his throat. “There’s too much at stake.”

If this was Lucifer’s opening gambit, Sam already knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold out.

Lucifer took his time, teasing and tormenting his victim – sucking on her breasts, fingering her cunt, while she struggled and cried and her screams and pleas for Sam to save her grew more and more incoherent.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” _Six billion people,_ he reminded himself, trying to anchor himself to the idea of the ‘greater good’. It was working, until Lucifer put Sarah on her knees facing Sam.

It was working until he took the blindfold off, and Sam was forced to look into her eyes. The hurt and betrayal he saw there was more than he could stand and still remain sane.

“Consider your next choice carefully, Sam,” Lucifer said, reaching out and caressing Sarah’s matted hair. “Because if you don’t say yes to me now, I am going to fuck this pretty little girl right in front of you.” He paused, making sure he had Sam’s full attention. “She might be strong enough to survive it – who knows? Some have.”

He made a face, cocking his head again as if he was remembering something. “No…I take that back. They did all end up gibbering vegetables in the end.” He looked at Sam again. “Sorry. After a couple millennia, the details start getting blurry. Well?”

Sam swiped angrily at the tears on his face. “I’m going to kill you, you bastard. Me. You’re going to pay…” He began repeating the threats like a litany, trying to armor himself against what was going to happen. _You have to be strong. You can’t sacrifice everybody for one person._

Lucifer snorted. “Seriously? We’re back on that again?” He sighed. “You are stubborn – I’ll give you that.” He gripped Sarah by the shoulder, pushing her forward until her face was pressing into the dirt floor. “Sorry, little one. I guess your big strapping hero doesn’t care about what happens to you.”

He traced his nails down her back, trailing lines of blood in their wake. His other hand was at his waist, undoing his pants.

“Please,” Sam begged, striking the barrier with his fists. “Please don’t do this. She’s got nothing to do with any of it.”

“Watch or don’t watch,” Lucifer said, sliding one hand inside his now open pants. “Whatever your conscience and your courage can stand.”

He paused, clawing a fresh row of bloody furrows in Sarah’s back. “Make no mistake, though. Whatever I do from this point on is on your head.”

******************************************************************

_Interlude: Dean_

Castiel passed him the grease-stained white bag. Dean reached in automatically and pulled out the cheeseburger he’d been promised. “You really went all the way to Florida for this?” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.

It was all he could do to keep from groaning in pleasure and relief. He suspected he would have reacted the same way to any food after so long, but this particular cheeseburger from that one particular restaurant still shone in his memory decades later as one of his most orgasmic culinary experiences. He took another bite, succumbing completely to his body’s need for sustenance.

“You refused to take food at all, unless I got you that food precisely.” Dean could tell, even through Castiel’s typical atonal speech patterns, that the angel was pissed.

He couldn’t find it in his heart to care. “I didn’t figure you’d actually go,” he admitted around another mouthful.

“It is a poor expenditure of my powers,” Cas said. “My abilities grow weaker every day that I am cut off from heaven and…”

Dean held up a warning finger, cutting him off. “You say God, and I swear I’m going to cut myself a round of Angel-B-Gone.” He wrapped his free hand briefly around his amulet, which was back in its familiar place around his neck. He’d demanded the necklace back from Castiel the moment the angel had caught up with him after their battle with Lucifer and War. It grounded him in the wake of Sam’s disappearance – a talisman to remind himself what was truly at stake now.

“We are losing time,” Cas said, bringing him back to the present. Dean took another bite of his burger. “We have no reliable way of tracking Sam. The only thing we can do is…”

“I’m not giving up on him,” Dean said, cutting Cas off again. “You want to go back to looking for Daddy, fine. I’m not stopping you.” _Been there, done that,_ he thought, although he would never have said it out loud. “But there’s no indication Sam has said yes yet, and as long as there’s a chance I can figure out where that son of a bitch has taken him, I’m not giving up.”

Castiel left soon after that, unwilling to engage in another round of the same argument they’d been having for weeks. Instead of going immediately back to work, Dean forced himself to keep eating. He needed the food more than he’d been willing to admit, and it was a very good burger.

He had no clear idea how much time had actually passed since the Devil had ambushed them in the Nevada desert and stolen Sam away. He’d eaten when Castiel had insisted, and slept in the back seat of the Impala when he’d been unable to keep his eyes open one second longer.

Aside from that, Dean searched with every method at his disposal. The grid search came first – methodically walking every square inch around the place where Sam had disappeared. Literally no stone was left unturned. Dean knew the likelihood of Sam still being in the immediate area was almost nonexistent, but he wasn’t going to overlook any possibility of a clue as long as the trail was still warm.

Once it cooled, he hit the web, searching for anyone in the vicinity who might have even the smallest amount of divination or scrying ability. Most of the ones he dug up at first were New Age organic granola types that had tried every last bit of his patience talking about “auras” and “scanning the cosmos”.

He’d even tried his own hand at a ritual or two, but after a string of embarrassing failures was finally forced to admit that he’d grown soft. He’d been relying too much on Sam and Bobby to handle the brunt of the ceremonial crap over the past few years, and now he was paying for it with interest. 

Frustrated, beaten down – Dean had been on the verge of giving up completely when he caught wind of a shaman in Wendover, Utah. “Cam’s all right,” the witch he’d gone to see in Ely had told him. “Pretty smart, even though he looks like some kind of sixties throwback.” Dean had gotten used to going farther for less, however, so he’d headed out.

After his lunchtime pit stop, he’d driven straight through – reaching Wendover just before dusk. It was an interesting hybrid of a city straddling the state line between Utah and Nevada. Casinos and lights lit up the Nevada side of the main street.

The Utah end of town could have been any one of a number of little southwestern ‘burgs Dean had driven through over the course of his life. It was there that he headed, following directions he’d gotten from a gas station on the north side of town.

The “Auto Repair” sign that met his eyes as he pulled up in front of the address he’d been given made him smile in spite of everything that was weighing on him. Campbell Erickson was also about as far from what Dean had expected as it was possible to get; physically, the man was trapped somewhere between Frank Zappa and Alice Cooper, and looked old enough to have partied with both.

He also knew who Dean was and what he wanted. “Spirits’ve been yammering at me for days,” he grunted, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “Looking for your brother, right?”

“Yes sir,” Dean said, nodding.

The man’s eyes ticked behind Dean to the Impala. “Nice car,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dean said – trying to keep from snapping at the man. While under ordinary circumstances he would have appreciated being able to talk shop with a guy like Campbell – time was running out, with him no closer to finding Sam than he’d been before. He needed answers, and even if he had them Cam was obviously not the sort of man to give them up quickly.

“Dinner’s in the crock pot,” the mechanic said finally. He gestured at the far side of the asphalt pad in front of his shop. “Pull in over there and come inside. I’ll get you fed up and see about putting you on the right path.”

The statement was simple, straightforward, and filled with such confidence that even if there hadn’t been the promise of a free meal Dean suspected he would have stayed.

Two bowels of chili, a slice of cornbread and most of a cold beer later, Dean felt some of the desperation starting to leave his system. The fact that he didn’t have to waste time laying out the entire back story helped as well. Cam asked a couple of pointed questions, but for the most part seemed happy to listen as Dean laid out the current facts of his situation.

“Your instincts are good, even if your tactics suck,” he said finally, upending his beer to get the last couple of drops. He held up the empty bottle in silent question. Dean nodded, and with a grunt Cam got up and went to the fridge. “Smart money says your brother’s lost. Old Smokey’s going to break him. You need to start thinking ahead, figuring out what you’re going to do next.”

Dean scowled. “Screw that. I’m not giving up on him.”

Cam shouldered the refrigerator door shut and returned to the table. Taking his chair again, he passed one of the beers to Dean. “Good for you,” he said – nodding his approval. “People talk big picture all the time like having this great cosmic world view is a good thing.” He twisted off the top and took a long drink. “People need to worry more often about the few instead of the many. Let the cosmic forces worry about the cosmic world view.”

“So when you said you’d see about putting me on the right path…” Dean said, his voice trailing off hopefully.

“Oh, I’ll help you get your brother back boy, don’t worry. Can’t promise we’ll succeed, but the signs are all strong, and the spirits tell me our fates are pretty closely tied in this.”

His no-nonsense attitude, plus the promise of space and tools to handle some much needed auto maintenance of his own, finally convinced Dean to grab a motel room nearby. He’d insisted on Cam submitting to all the usual tests before fully settling in, which greatly amused the mechanic. “If I was some supernatural thing trying to trap you,” he’d pointed out before drinking a full glass of holy water, “I’d come up with something a damn sight more clever than this.”

Castiel hadn’t liked the idea at all of Dean bringing someone new into the fight. He’d refused to meet Cam at first, and tended to vanish whenever he knew Cam was nearby. “You don’t know anything about him,” he’d argued one night in early December. “And yet you will abandon everything on the slim possibility that he can help you defeat the Devil and find your brother?”

“Got nothing to lose,” Dean had said, idly spinning the socket wrench he’d been using in one hand. He didn’t bother pointing out that Cam had offered him a direction moving towards his goal, which was more than Castiel had been willing – or able – to do.

“It’d be better if we weren’t in the dark time,” Cam had acknowledged one night. “Assuming we don’t have time to wait for Spring, Winter Solstice is going to be your best chance to pull one over on Old Smokey.”

He’d even had a place for them to start looking. “Bonneville Salt Flats,” he’d said, pointing to the area on a map. “It’s poisoned land – if the Devil’s going to hole up anywhere for any type of major long term working, it’s going to be there. That’s just common sense.”

Sensing that Dean still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of waiting two more weeks to do anything substantive, Cam had loaded him up with a stack of books that – as he’d said – “might turn something up”.

Dean had devoured them, searching for any ray of hope he could find. He managed two divination spells and one minor summoning of a demon that turned out to be a wild goose chase before agreeing to give up and throw the full weight of his energies behind helping Cam prepare for the Solstice working.

“Hold on, Sammy,” he breathed one night, sitting outside his motel room and watching the stars. “Please hold on.”

*****************************************************************

Chapter Two: _The Second Temptation_

Sarah’s rape and torture had seemed to stretch on forever, until Sam was sure her screams had taken root in his soul. He’d forced himself to watch every second – to understand the price he was being forced to pay in order to keep Team Free Will fighting and intact.

It was the single most horrible thing he’d ever had to endure.

She’d died before Lucifer was finished with her – an accidental flex of his fist that broke her neck. Sam could only watch and pray that she was beyond anything else the Devil had planned on doing to her. He refused to allow himself to consider the possibility that Lucifer might bring her back to life in order to continue torturing her.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Lucifer didn’t even seem to realize what had happened until after he’d finished. “Huh,” he said, prodding her limp body with a toe. “That’s unfortunate.” He hitched up his pants and tucked his cock back in place. Sam tried desperately to ignore the blood that showed through his fingers.

Lucifer met his gaze. “I was kind of looking forward to watching you deal with the aftermath. Oh well.” He made a complicated gesture with his free hand, and Sam sensed the barricade that had kept him in place finally vanish.

He couldn’t find the strength to react. Grief and fear weighed him down to the point where any thoughts he had of physically attacking Lucifer were more than he could manage.

“I’m going to give you some time to think about what’s happened,” Lucifer said, drawing Sam’s attention. “I’ve got some errands to run – people to slaughter – and then I’ll be back.”

He was gone before Sam could say anything…leaving Sarah’s corpse broken and bleeding into the sandy floor.

When he could finally make himself move, Sam gathered her into his arms – rocking back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her matted and blood-soaked hair. “God Sarah, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

He knew in his heart that his apologies were beyond worthless, but he said them anyway – praying as he held her that whatever judgment that waited out there would be merciful. _Wish I could ask Cas about it,_ he thought. He had faith, but after everything it would have been nice to be sure.

Once he’d rested and prayed and grieved, Sam’s more practical side seemed to come back on line. Aside from the ritual niceties of a proper burial, the cold fact was that Lucifer had left him underground with a fresh corpse. Whatever smell and decomposition he was dealing with now was nothing compared to what he would be facing if this got to be a protracted contest of wills between the two of them.

So, even though he was emotionally and physically exhausted, Sam had forced himself to start scratching out a grave in the dirt. With only his hands as tools, it took hours – and despite his best intentions, he was forced to stop and rest several times.

Finally though, he had a hole large enough to lay Sarah out properly – even though it was a shallow hole by anyone’s standards. He stopped then, lifting the body from where it had fallen, straightening her limbs as best he could and putting her in the grave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Pausing to collect his thoughts, he searched his memory for an appropriate prayer or poem to send her spirit on its way.

“God,” he said finally. “If you really are out there somewhere, please find a way to make this right. She didn’t deserve this – her only crime was being important to me.” He paused, feeling uncomfortably like he was being watched.

The reality of collateral damage had never cut this deeply. Dropping to his knees again, Sam began the laborious task of pushing dirt back into the grave.

“You know what your problem is boy?”

Sam glanced up, hardly shocked enough to react to the sight of Bobby leaning against the dirt wall – arms crossed over his chest, his legs whole and functioning once more. “Where do you want me to start?” He asked dully, before returning to his self-appointed task.

The spirit, or hallucination, or whatever it was – Sam was too tired and too heartsick to figure it out – crouched down on the opposite side of the grave. “Look at me, boy.”

Sam was annoyed at the command, but years of snapping to when Bobby used that tone were hard to break. He sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of one dirt-encrusted hand. “Yes, sir.”

There was a deep understanding in the hunter’s familiar gaze that tore at Sam’s gut and made him want to collapse into a shivering, sobbing heap. _Dammit, Bobby!_

“We’re not global thinkers, Sam,” Bobby said finally. “You’re trying to hold onto a big picture, and all you’re doing is losing yourself in the process.”

Sam had thought he was cried out, but a single tear broke free and fell down his cheek. There was too much truth in the observation. “What the hell do you want me to do, Bobby,” he sighed. “You’re not even really here. You’re just some sick fantasy I’m having.”

Bobby shrugged. “Maybe I’m here, maybe I’m not – doesn’t mean what I’m sayin’ is wrong.” He tilted his head towards the grave Sam had half-filled. “What did this get you?”

Sam followed his gaze; mercifully he’d dropped enough dirt that Sarah’s corpse was almost entirely hidden from view. “I was strong enough to resist,” he said – but there was no real heat or victory to his words.

“And that got you exactly what? Another hour? Two? Ten?” Bobby looked stricken. “You know this was worse than you’ve ever had to face, boy – do you really think the Devil doesn’t have plenty more horrible things at his disposal?”

 _Is he really suggesting what I think he’s suggesting?_ Sam wondered. “I can’t just give up,” he said finally.

“Why not?” The question was asked from off to his right – a familiar female voice that dug a fresh wound into his soul.

Sam dropped his head, trying to gather the strength to face her. “Ellen.”

The image of Ellen Harvelle crouched beside him – so close Sam imagined he could hear her breathing. “Sam, look at me.” When he had, his heart breaking fresh all over again at the sight of her whole and healthy, she went on. “I’m the last person in the world to tell you to just quit fighting, but boy, you and your brother have been beating your head against this brick wall for way too long now.”

More tears now – fast and hot against his skin. _Why are they doing this to me?_ “Ellen, I can’t say yes. Too much is at stake. Dean…”

Whatever Ellen was laid a hand on his sleeve – Sam imagined it as a cold spot against his skin. “You listen to me. I love you boys like you were my own, but Dean Winchester wouldn’t know a smart tactical move if it bit him on the ass.”

“What she means,” Bobby said, coming around the grave to crouch at Sam’s left, “is that you’re trapped. Your soul’s damned either way – you hold out and save the world and lose yourself in the process, or you give in to what the Devil wants and save your family.”

Sam stared at the older hunter, horrified. “Bobby, you can’t be serious. This…this isn’t you.”

“You know it’s the truth, Sam.” Momentarily distracted, Sam stared across the grave to where Jo Harvelle stood – hand in hand with Castiel.

“Cas…what?” The sight of the angel – obviously non-corporeal – staggered Sam. “How are you here? What’s happened? Where’s Dean?”

“Dean is in trouble, Sam,” the angel said. “Losing you has broken something in his soul. I do not know if he will be able to recover.”

Panic gripped Sam then, half-bringing him to his feet. Ellen and Bobby stood on either side of him. “You can save him, Sam,” Bobby said earnestly. “Say yes, and you’ll have enough power to save your brother – you’ll have enough power to save us all.”

Everything Bobby was saying made so much sense…Sam was sorely, achingly tempted. He knew in his gut they were all right – if he embraced his destiny as Lucifer’s vessel, he could protect everyone who mattered. He could bring Jo, Ellen and Bobby back from the dead. _And Dean…_

“Dean wouldn’t want me to save him that way.” His heart sank as he said it, but it was as true as anything that had been said so far.

“Screw Dean then,” Jo said. “Save us. You saw what those demons did to Bobby. You could undo that, Sam – you could undo all of it!” She paused. “You owe us.”

“Dean would come around,” Ellen said, cutting off Sam’s protest. “When he realized all the good you’d done.”

“You could save us all, boy,” Bobby said softly.

A small hand gripped Sam’s shoulder; just enough pressure to convince him that the person who had appeared beside him was real. _Warm breath against his skin…the faint scent of her in his nostrils._ He closed his eyes, shivering uncontrollably – knowing before he dared look, who he was going to see.

“You’d have enough power to save me, Sam. Make it so I never had to die.”

 _Madison._ Sam hung his head, still unable to look at her. “You promised,” he said miserably, even though he had no proof Lucifer was even listening. “You fucking promised I wouldn’t have to do this.”

A gentle caress of his hair – Sam fought the urge to jerk away from her. “You’re the one who brought me here, Sam,” Madison said softly. “I’ve been a part of you since that day in my apartment, and if you were being completely honest with yourself you’d already know that.”

Silence stretched between them as Sam tested what she was saying and nearly choked on the truth of it. “I didn’t want to forget,” he said finally, forcing himself to turn and face her. “I didn’t think I deserved to.”

God she was more beautiful than he remembered. So much strength wrapped in such a delicate-seeming package. She was glowing with such life and promise – Sam had to keep reminding himself it was a lie.

Around them, the ghosts of Sam’s family vanished.

“You know I didn’t want you to hold onto me out of guilt,” Madison said once they were alone, frowning slightly. “You did the only thing you could do, Sam – you did what I asked you to do. I forgave you, remember?”

She took a step towards him; his control shattered, Sam backed away from her. Seeing his fear, Madison stopped and raised both hands – laughing shakily. “Whoa, guy, whoa. You know, it’s a little freaky seeing you this scared of me. It’s not anywhere close to the full moon, you know.”

“So not the point,” Sam said. “Believe me – getting my heart dug out by a werewolf would be heaven right now.” He swallowed hard. “Madison, why are you here?”

“You want the existential or the transcendental explanation?” she said. “Seriously Sam…you already know why I’m here – why I was always going to be here. Do you really need to hear me spell it out?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “I really kind of do.”

She sighed, but there was only a trace of annoyance in the sound. “Okay – we both know I’m dead, so either I’m a hallucination or some kind of construct, true?”

Sam nodded. “Worked that one out for myself.”

“Not hard,” Madison agreed. She began to pace. “Extrapolating further, since I look different than the ghosts I just scared off, odds are I’m not a bona fide spirit, right?”

“Makes sense,” Sam agreed. He was fairly secure in his assessment of the situation, but he wanted to see where Lucifer was planning on taking things before he tipped his hand too far.

“Considering how terrified you’ve been of having to face me, I would say the odds of me being one of your hallucinations are pretty small.” She stared at him meaningfully.

Sam nodded again. “I think so too.”

“Which means,” she said, folding her arms matter of factly across her chest, “that I’m a creation of Lucifer, sent to tempt you into submitting to your destiny.” There was a mocking edge to her voice as she made the proclamation, and Sam smiled in spite of himself.

Then, suddenly her expression grew serious. “What if I am?” Off Sam’s look of confusion, she continued, “I heard what those ghosts were telling you. Would you really have enough power to bring the dead back to life?”

Sam licked his lips nervously. They were moving into very dangerous territory now. “I have to assume so,” he said at last. “He’s indicated as much in the past.”

“So all those ghosts that were talking to you…you could change what happened to them?”

Put that way, it was hard to resist. “Yes. It’s never that simple, though, Madison. Those kinds of deals – they turn bad. They always turn bad.”

She moved closer to him, and this time Sam didn’t flinch away. “I’m not a lawyer, Sam, but you told me that dealing with demons is what you and your brother do. I’m sure a smart, experienced guy like you can strike a deal that will get you what you want.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d rolled the idea around in his mind. He would never have admitted it to Dean, but his time at Stanford had given him an appreciation for the way laws could be twisted to serve the needs of the person yanking on the strings. And if he went the route Madison was suggesting…

Sam glanced around his prison. It wasn’t a lot to inspire him that he had any power at all in the situation. It was perfectly reasonable to assume that Lucifer would continue escalating his campaign of horror until Sam broke under the weight of it.

 _He’s on a timetable._ He’d admitted as much when he’d captured Sam – both in words and in the act itself. It was a small opening, but Sam suspected that if he played it very carefully it was exploitable.

Madison’s hand on his chest brought him shivering back to the present. “It’s only going to get worse if you don’t do something,” she whispered – looking up at him with those large dark eyes that had haunted his nightmares for so very, very long.

“Save me, Sam,” she said. “Save us all.”

Emotions churning, Sam cupped her face in his hand. She leaned into his touch – every gesture so real, so true that it was like a knife to his chest. Leaning down, he kissed her.

She moaned softly, her lips parting as she moved closer. Their tongues met – slick, wet slide of heat that made him shiver with need. Madison cupped the back of his neck, moving into him until their bodies were pressed together.

Sam deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her – holding on for life and soul. His hands traveled across her hair, her shoulders, and down her back, feeling her move against him with small sighs of pleasure.

 _You can’t do this,_ his hind brain screamed – distracting him for a moment. Startled, he broke off his kiss. _It’s a trap! Lucifer is setting you up!_

Madison studied him for a long moment. Finally she sighed – pulling free of his embrace and standing up. Startled, Sam looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

The corners of her mouth twitched in a half smile. “Really, Sam – we don’t have that kind of time.” She held out her hand and he took it, pushing himself to his feet. When he was steady, Madison laid one hand against his cheek. “Stay with me.” she said, her eyes full of love and need for him. “In every way that matters – please stay. I can’t lose you again.”

“Madison…” He started to pull back, started to tell her every reason why this wouldn’t work, why he couldn’t give Lucifer the satisfaction of giving in – and stopped.

She made him feel alive. She’d done it before with her fearlessness and her smile and her offbeat take on the world. They’d talked for hours that night in her apartment, and Sam hadn’t felt that close to any woman since Jessica. The sex had been great too, but it was incidental to the immediate bond he’d felt with her.

They’d only known each other a few short, emotionally charged days, but in that time Sam had let himself dream of a life with Madison. _Which is why you’ve never gotten over her,_ the more rational portion of his brain observed.

Her hand slid down to the back of his neck. “We don’t know how much time he’s going to give us,” she said. “I can’t get you out of here, and I can’t tell you what to do.” She pulled him down and kissed him again – a gentle brush of lips that made him shiver.

“I can make it easier.” Her free hand tugged gently on his belt buckle. “Please let me.”

Something seemed to tear inside Sam’s chest. With a small sob, he swept her up into his arms – kissing her deeply. _It won’t hurt anything,_ he thought, opening the button on her slacks and pulling down the zipper. Madison made a small noise of encouragement as her own hands fumbled with his belt.

_I can have this. It won’t hurt anything._

Getting out of their clothes was an awkward process. Sam couldn’t stop touching her – stroking every inch of skin he could reach, reassuring himself that she was real – that this was happening.

He went to his knees in front of her. Sliding his hands across her hips, he tugged her closer until he could smell her arousal – how much she wanted him. He buried himself in the scent, dragging his tongue slowly along the length of her slit, gathering the slick heat into his mouth.

“Sam…” She threaded her fingers into his hair, groaning softly as he licked her. He took his time, exploring every inch of her…bringing her along as slowly as he could.

When he traced the point of his tongue across the swollen nub of her clit, Madison gasped, thrusting against him. “Oh God, Sam…please…” The pitch of her voice had risen sharply, half-strangled with desire – and the sound of it seemed to go straight to his dick.

He held himself in check, sucking her clit between his lips, rolling and tugging on it – gradually increasing the pressure as her sounds of pleasure and encouragement grew louder and more incoherent, and her grip on his hair tightened almost to the point of pain.

Madison made a high, keening sound in the back of her throat – frozen on the edge – and then suddenly she was screaming and thrashing as the orgasm ripped through her body. Sam held her steady as he continued to lick and suck at her…drinking down as much of the sweet, musky fluid as he could get.

He brought her through as gently as he could, kissing her thighs as the aftershocks started. Only when she was quiet again did he sit back on his heels and look up at her.

Her eyes were huge as she stared down at him – almost demon black in the gloom. Sam shivered. Madison’s hands slipped down to his shoulders, and she lowered herself until the lips of her pussy were brushing lightly against the tip of his cock.

Sam groaned, shuddering as the feel of her washed through him. “Please…” he whispered , hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. _Please let me have this…_

He reached between their sweat-soaked bodies, gripping the base of his cock so she could slide over him. She was tighter than he remembered – slick heat crushing around him. When her hips pressed against his, Sam wrapped his arms around her; holding her still against him for a moment while he savored the feel of her locked around him. _So good…_

Madison lightly brushed a few strands of hair back from his face, drawing his attention. “You with me?” she asked softly. 

By way of answer, he kissed her – tongue sliding between her lips as he pushed up into her. She kissed him back fiercely, moving into him. Sam tried to keep his strokes controlled and steady, to draw it out, but it quickly became too much for him. The moments seemed to blur together as he thrust into her harder and harder.

Their lips parted as the need for oxygen became too great. Gasping and sweating as she rode him, Sam wrapped his arms around Madison as tightly as he could, pulling her head against his shoulder and holding on with everything he had.

_So close…oh God…_

Through the haze of sensation, he realized Madison was starting to growl. The small spike of fear that shot through him when he heard the sound was enough to tip him over the edge. He came screaming, cock pulsing deep inside her. Madison came a second behind him, her pussy clamping down almost painfully tight as she writhed in his arms.

Too soon, reality started bleeding back in. Sam tightened his grip when Madison would have slid off him, shaking his head against her shoulder. “Not yet.” They rode out their aftershocks locked together; Sam holding off the moment when they would have to part as long as he could.

_Stay with me._

*******************************************

_Interlude: Dean_

Nothing. Weeks of preparation – gathering and cataloguing ingredients, reading books so dusty and full of mold they made him sneeze, practicing Enochian phrases until his tongue was swollen…all of it culminating in three days of drinking nothing but distilled water and some disgusting tea Cam had brewed for them but refused to list the ingredients on.

“Believe me,” he’d said when Dean had paused over the first cup, “you’re better off not knowing.”

Weeks of throwing his heart and soul into the process, leading up to his last, best hope for finding Sam – and in the end it had come to nothing.

Dean suspected he could have handled it better if they’d made a mistake – if there had been some sort of misstep he could have pointed to and hung the blame on. He wasn’t nearly as accomplished a ritualist as Sam or Bobby, but he knew enough to know that Cam’s ritual had gone perfectly. Between them they hadn’t fumbled a single word, step or gesture; no small achievement with Castiel glaring at them disapprovingly from the sidelines the whole time.

They’d waited for hours for some sort of sign, some indication that their work had made any impression on the universe at all. Finally the sky in the east had started to lighten with the first rays of sunshine, and Cam had finally conceded that the chances of a working against the Devil succeeding in broad daylight were almost nonexistent. “Even harder when he’s trying to stay hidden like this,” he'd said. “At least when it’s dark we have a chance of seeing where he’s gone to ground.”

Numb with shock, cold and failure, Dean had been forced to agree.

Castiel had ridden with them in the Impala back to Wendover and Cam’s shop, although he’d said almost nothing to either of them for the entire duration of the trip. Dean had wondered if Cam would say something about the angel’s lack of manners, but like so much else it didn’t seem to bother the man.

“You’re coming for dinner tonight,” he’d said as Dean had coasted to a stop in front of the auto repair shop. It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Dean was too twisted up inside to try and come up with an excuse.

“I’ll call you after I wake up,” he said. Cam clearly hadn’t been happy with his non-committal answer, but Dean had been too numb inside to care.

Without so much as a glance at Castiel, Cam had gotten out of the Impala and disappeared into his shop. As soon as he was out of view, Cas vanished out of the back seat; materializing next to Dean in the front seat.

“Don’t start,” Dean said, throwing the car into gear and pulling out of Cam’s parking lot. “Not now.”

“You may not believe me,” Castiel said, “but I am sorry it didn’t work.”

Dean didn’t respond out loud. In his head he was screaming for Cas to shut up – to leave him alone – but if the angel could hear his thoughts, he wasn’t admitting it to Dean. “The fact is,” Cas said, “Campbell Erickson was your best hope for retrieving Sam. You need to start accepting that your brother is gone.”

Dean kept his eyes fixed on the road and his mouth shut. There was no good answer he could give Cas – not in the state he was in right now.

“You know first-hand how creative Hell’s torturers are, Dean,” Castiel continued. “Do you really think Sam can hold out against Lucifer himself, if the Devil is determined to break him?”

Dean abruptly spun the steering wheel to the left, slinging the Impala into a tiny parking lot. Without a word to Castiel, he got out of the car and went into the liquor store.

 _I don’t care,_ he thought, grabbing a gallon of the cheapest whiskey he could find off the shelf. _Fuck the world – what did the world ever do for us?_

He thumped the bottle on the counter in front of the startled clerk and pulled out his wallet.

_Your sons are cursed._

_This family is cursed._

Memory of Sam pleading with their mother to change the course of history, to make it so he and Sam had never been born, washed through him. They’d been too late, of course, but Dean knew now that he would have welcomed death if it meant that he and Sam would never have had to suffer this much.

His purchase secured, Dean grabbed the brown paper bag and stalked out of the store. Castiel suddenly appeared in his path, blocking his way. “Dean. Wait.”

Dean forced himself to count to ten before meeting Castiel’s gaze squarely. “Get out of my way,” he growled.

They squared off for a moment, and then Castiel stepped aside. Dean strode past him, slamming into the car and peeling out of the parking lot in a spray of gravel and dust.

He needed space to breathe, to think – to decide what he was going to do – and between Cam and Castiel, Dean knew he wasn’t likely to get it any time soon. He liked the mechanic, and he didn’t blame him for the ritual failing – but he’d recognized that look in the man’s eye. Cam wasn’t going to support Dean doing anything drastic, and in Dean’s eyes drastic was all he had left.

Instinct took him to the Nevada end of the main drag; gaudy casinos lining either side of the street. Picking the first one he saw that had a parking garage, he pulled in. It wasn’t going to be much in the way of camouflage, but Dean figured he could at least buy himself enough time to figure out what he was going to do next.

The man behind the desk didn’t blink when he checked in with only a backpack, a brown paper bag, and murder in his eyes. Dean took his key without comment and headed straight for his room.

The security locks went first – protection against Cam or any other normal human that might try to find him. Then the salt lines at window and threshold. Finally he drew the Enochian sigils that had become as familiar to him as any devil’s trap over the last year. Sharpie on the glass sealed the windows – the point of a switchblade lightly etched the necessary symbols into the surface of the door.

 _No chances this time._ Once Dean was as secure as he could make himself, he sat on the edge of the king size bed, twisted the top off the whiskey bottle, and took a long pull. The cheap liquor burned a trail of fire down his throat, fortifying him against the hours stretching in front of him.

 _What the hell am I going to do?_ He’d thrown everything he had left on this gamble and lost. Castiel was right – it had been too long. Dean knew full well what Sam had been up against if the Devil really was pulling out all the stops. Tough as Sam was, there was no way he could hold out forever.

_No one could._

Dean took another swallow of whiskey, and slid his pistol from its holster.  
****************************************************************************

Chapter Three: _The Final Temptation_

Sam woke up alone, his clothes somehow back in place, his head pounding with a monster-sized headache. He made a minor stab at rationalizing what had happened with Madison, but quickly gave it up as a bad job. The sex in particular was worrisome. He’d reached for her out of desperation, but if she was nothing more than Lucifer wearing another disguise…

He shuddered.

The problem that continued to nag at him was that – right or wrong – she had made a very good argument. If he thought it carefully through, it wasn’t impossible to think that he could craft a deal that would corner the Devil.

 _Dean wouldn’t like it._ That was truth enough. Sam knew, however, that he couldn’t keep doing nothing. He didn’t even know if Dean was still alive, was still Dean. Castiel’s presence among the ghosts was worrisome in and of itself – without the angel or Sam guarding his back, he didn’t give his brother much of a chance for staying alive and as independent as he wanted.

 _And if I give everything up for him,_ he thought, _how is that different from all the other times we’ve done this dance?_ It was the one trap they’d agreed not to fall into anymore, and Sam was sitting here seriously thinking about taking the leap.

Getting to his feet, he began pacing the confines of his prison. We keep each other human, Dean had said, and he was right. If Sam threw that all away, even for the best of intentions…

 _Dean would never forgive me._ He wanted more than anything to save his brother, but he knew Dean well enough to know that he would consider this price to be too high.

Sam reached the wall, turned, and the scene around him shifted – melting and morphing into a gaudy Vegas-style hotel room.

Dean was sitting on the king size bed. Sam’s momentary surge of joy was tamped down by the fact that his brother didn’t seem to be aware of Sam’s presence at all. A nearly empty whiskey bottle was on the floor at his feet, and his pistol was in his hands.

The barrel was pointed directly at his face.

Sam forgot everything in that one heart-stopping moment – none of it mattered against the anguish in his brother’s eyes as Dean stared down the barrel of his own gun.

“Dean, no,” he said, stepping forward and crouching by the bed. Reaching up, he pushed the weapon down with a visibly shaking hand. “Look at me.”

He thought he’d seen every emotion his brother had, but the despair in that well-loved face was deeper and more profound than anything Sam had ever imagined. “You’re not real. You’re a hallucination, Sammy. You can’t be real.”

Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m real,” he said. “I’m alive. I just don’t know where I am.” Tightening his grip, he twisted the nickel plated weapon out of Dean’s unresisting grip, set it carefully aside. “You can’t give up now.”

Tears caught the light then, diamonds sparking against the green. “It’s been months,” Dean whispered, and then his mouth was on Sam’s, one hand fisting convulsively in the tangle of his hair, dragging him up.

 _This. Always this._ Dimly Sam realized the depths of Lucifer’s understanding as he surged up to wrap his arms around Dean. Every temptation Lucifer had thrown at him, every promise he’d made, had been designed to chip away at Sam’s resistance. This was the final play. Lucifer knew – they all knew – that for Sam it all began and ended right fucking here.

 _Alpha and Omega. Beginning and end._ He pulled Dean to his feet, stroking the sweat-soaked hair, the curve of his neck where it blended into his shoulder, skimming down his chest to tug at the hem of his t-shirt. “Need to feel you,” he breathed as their lips parted. “Just you.”

Pulling back slightly, Dean crossed his arms and skinned the shirt up and off – throwing it aside. The lamplight cast shadows on the muscles in his arms, his chest…throwing them into sharp relief. Sam exhaled softly, drawing strength and comfort from the familiar, well-loved sight.

This was home. No matter what happened, this would always be the only place in the universe he’d ever been truly safe. Peeling off his own shirt, Sam curled his fingers around Dean’s waistband and tugged him closer.

They kissed again – harder this time, more demanding. Sam felt his cock grow hard as Dean’s hands traced the lines of his body, nipped at the swell of his lip; sweet pressure riding the edge of pain. “Fuck,” he groaned as Dean’s fingers groped for the button on his jeans.

“That’s the plan.”

Sam’s breath hissed out between his teeth as Dean pulled his cock free, his brother’s warm hand stroking the length, cupping around the head… Shaking with need, Sam put his hands on either side of Dean’s face, pulled him up for another kiss.

“Not gonna last,” he groaned, tremors rippling across his back and shoulders as Dean jacked him slow and firm. “God Dean…feels so good…”

Dean’s eyes met his, sure and steady. “You’re not gonna come until you’re inside me.” He reached up with his free hand, laying it against Sam’s cheek. “Need you, Sammy…God I need you so bad…” Dean’s eyes filled with tears again, clawing Sam’s heart to shreds in his chest.

He couldn’t tell anymore where illusion stopped and reality began. Every instinct he had screamed that it was a lie – a trap. Lucifer had shown him the thing he wanted most, in circumstances he would have happily sold his soul to change, and Sam couldn’t find the strength to stand back and let the lie spin itself out.

There was truth in touch, however. Stripping off the rest of their clothes, skin brushing against skin, Sam was finally able to ground himself in the feel of Dean stretched out on the bed beneath him. The familiar curve of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the swell of bicep – a million scars and marks seen and unseen – Sam took the time to catalog all of it, filing the reality of it away against future pain.

When he was finally ready, one of Dean’s legs braced against his chest and shoulder, Sam thrust slow and deep – taking his greatest pleasure in how the pain melted from Dean’s expression. “God, Sam…yes…just like that…fuck…” His eyes started to roll back in his head, and his back bowed as he thrust his hips back to meet Sam’s stroke. Sam dug his fingers into the meat of Dean’s thighs, holding him still while he pulled back almost full length before snapping forward again. “Fuck…yes…Sam…God…”

Dean’s fingers clawed at the sheets, scrabbling for purchase. “Over your head,” Sam told him, picking up his rhythm – each thrust as deep as he could go. “Hold onto the headboard.”

Even though he was already half-gone, drugged with sensation, Dean did as he was told. His fingers curled around the bars of the metal headboard, bracing himself against Sam’s strokes. His cock was thick and hard, brushing against the muscles of Sam’s belly every time he thrust his hips into Dean’s. He was overwhelmed with the need to taste it, to suck on it until he swallowed every drop Dean had to give.

There was no time. Already Sam could feel the coils of tension spiraling out from his gut. Panting from the effort, he curled his fingers around Dean’s cock and began stroking him. “Come for me, Dean. Want to…see…” Words failed him as his own orgasm rocked through his body.

Dean followed a moment later, thick hot liquid spilling over Sam’s fist and striping Dean’s belly in streaks of white.

When he could move again, Sam pulled himself free and went to scrounge them up a couple of towels. Dean was asleep when he returned; Sam perched on the edge of the bed and cleaned him up as gently as he could.

“Dammit, Dean,” he whispered, overcome with emotion. “You can’t give up. Not now. Not after everything…” His voice broke, and he wiped angrily at the tears brimming in his eyes.

When he was in control of himself again, Sam cleaned himself up and then crawled into the bed next to Dean. He spooned around his brother’s back, pulling Dean as close as he could. _Just a few minutes,_ he thought as consciousness began to slip away. _So tired…_

He had no idea how long he’d slept, or what brought him gasping back to consciousness. “Dean?”

His first realization was that he was alone on the bed. He looked wildly around the room, finally finding Dean framed in the doorway to the bathroom. The bright fluorescent light streamed around him, casting most of his features in shadow.

"Dean?” he asked, blinking and shaking his head to try and bring himself more fully awake. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, his voice heavy with tears and despair again. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I just can’t fight anymore. I’m done. I’m out.”

The light sparked silver off the gun in his hand. Sam opened his mouth to scream his protest and denial as Dean raised the weapon and wedged the barrel under his chin – but he was too late. 

One sharp crack, a spray of blood, brain and bone…and it was done.

Cloth became dirt under his clawing fingers, and the scene melted around him. Sam froze on his hands and knees, struggling to make the mental shift just to keep up. “It’s not real,” he gasped. “It didn’t happen.”

“Looked pretty real from where I was.”

His rage – the monster he’d been fighting so long and so hard to keep caged – reared up in Sam, blinding him to sense. Power flooded his veins, lifting him to his feet. He flung his arms out towards Lucifer, pushing everything he had at the Devil.

Light flooded the small dirt chamber, hiding Lucifer from view. Sam dimly heard what he thought might be screaming from his target, and redoubled his efforts. He had no reasonable hope of killing Lucifer, but any damage he could inflict at this point on this creature…this thing…was worth the effort.

_Whatever I have to do._

It was then Sam realized Lucifer wasn’t screaming.

He was laughing.

The realization was enough to shake him, make him falter in his single-minded determination to destroy the creature that had hurt him so deeply. Power drained out of him, dropping him back to his knees in the dirt as he gasped for air and tried to slow his racing heartbeat.

“Almost had you there, Sam.” Lucifer came into his field of view, crouching down next to him. “I must say, that was impressive.”

If Sam could have forced his arms to move, he would have risked everything to strike the creature. Instead he asked, “Was it real?”

Lucifer feigned confusion. “Was what real?” Off Sam’s glare, he smiled. “Well…yes and no. Unfortunately that little display you and your brother just put on was largely in your own mind.” He shook his head. “Too bad, because it was a thing of true beauty.” He kissed his fingertips in a gesture of appreciation.

Sam felt his face grow hot, but refused to turn away from the Devil’s gaze. “What was real?” he asked. That was the question he needed answered – the question that would decide everything.

Lucifer studied him for a long moment, almost as if he sensed that there was something Sam wasn’t telling him. “Right now,” he said finally, “Dean Winchester is sitting alone in a motel room with a bottle of very cheap whiskey beside him, and his gun in his hands. He is considering his options, and finding only one to his liking.”

It wasn’t precisely an answer, but Sam hadn’t really expected one. “Where’s Cas? He’s not dead, is he?”

“My brother Castiel has fled,” Lucifer said, “searching for anyone and anything he can find to distract Dean from his current path.” He paused, cocking his head to one side as if he was listening to something outside the range of Sam’s hearing. “He is considering going on bended knee to Zachariah or Michael in order to keep Dean alive.”

“Dean won’t agree to that,” Sam said without thinking.

“There is no free will here, Sam,” Lucifer reminded him. “Not in the question of you and your brother living or dying…only in whether or not you embrace your respective destinies.”

“In other words,” Sam said, meeting Lucifer’s gaze squarely, “I say yes, and you’ll let me go to Dean.”

Lucifer spread his hands. “You are the only one who can bring him back at this point.”

Sam got slowly to his feet, not saying anything at first, and moved as far away from the Devil as he could. Lucifer straightened up a moment later, not pushing…giving Sam the space he needed to decide what to do.

_We keep each other human._

_Revenge, Sam? Are we back on that kick again?_

Lucifer had hinted Dean wouldn’t be allowed to die. Not as long as there was a chance he might still break and say yes to Michael. _He’s counting on me being willing to jump on the grenade to save Dean from that choice,_ Sam realized.

And he did want that, with every fiber of his being. He remembered how creative Zachariah had gotten in his initial attempts at persuasion. For all the psychological torture Lucifer had just subjected him to, Sam had to admit that the Devil was currently leading in the mercy department.

He already knew what Dean would say. _The price is too high._ And yet, Sam didn’t want to come straight out and refuse. Watching Dean blow his brains out had nearly broken him. He really didn’t know if he could survive anything Lucifer came up with to top that image.

He turned the angles over and over in his head. There had to be a way to outsmart him; had to be a way to corner him and bring the whole ugly mess to a standstill.

“Undo the deal,” he said finally – the solution coming to him in a flash. He felt hollow inside – numb – but more secure in his decision than he’d ever been in his life. “Undo my mother’s deal, make it so that it never happened, and I swear by any oath you require that I will give you anything you want.”

****************************************************************

_Interlude: Dean_

Dean was dragged back to consciousness by the feel of work-roughened hands lightly slapping his face. “Dean! Dean – come on boy! Wake up!”

 _Cam._ He tried to pull free of the mechanic’s grip on his shirt front, but it was like moving through molasses. The man hauled him bodily to a sitting position, setting the room spinning wildly around him.

Luckily for both of them, it seemed that Cam had anticipated this too. Dean had about a second’s warning, and then there was a trashcan in front of him, exactly where he needed it to be. Once he had finished emptying his gut, his vision began to clear.

“Get away from me,” he growled.

Cam dragged a chair over and set it directly opposite Dean. The old man sat in the chair, a stubborn set to his face. “Not a bad solution,” he said. “If you’re really ready to check out, you did everything right to make sure you weren’t found.”

The room spun again, forcing Dean to hold onto his forehead. “So how’d you find me?”

“I have my ways,” the man said. If he could have moved, Dean would have happily punched him.

“I am so tired of cryptic bullshit,” he groaned.

Cam was quiet for a moment. “Tired of a lot of things, I’ll warrant. So this is it? You’re going to let the entire planet slide into hell because you can’t save one man?”

Dean lowered his hands, actually taking the time to consider the question. It was something he’d wrestled with ever since that moment in Maryland when Sam had set Lucifer free.

He knew what was expected of him. He and Sam had been charging ahead, eye on the twin goals of saving the world and saving themselves in the process. Even when they’d been apart, Dean had never wavered in his belief that their lives were worthless when set against the lives of six billion people.

He wavered now. “I’ve lost my only reason for staying in the game,” he admitted finally. “As long as Sam and I had each other’s backs, there was a chance we could draw everyone’s fire long enough to figure out a way to put a stop to this thing.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, wishing his body would either tip him towards feeling better or killing him outright. This in between state he seemed to be stuck in was as bad as he could ever remember feeling.

“I could keep running,” he went on. “Might even find a way to get a few licks in. I’m not going to win, though. If I really am alone now, I’m nothing more than a sitting duck.”

Cam licked his lips. “What about what Sam told you? How sure are you that he’s out of your reach?”

Dean felt himself go cold. “That was a dream,” he said. “Too much alcohol.”

“What if it wasn’t?” Cam asked. “Not entirely, anyway.”

Dean saw red as what Cam had said sank fully into his alcohol soaked brain. The next few moments passed in a heart-stopping blur. He launched himself off the bed – thinking about nothing beyond grabbing Cam and breaking the mechanic’s neck.

Cam raised his hands, spoke three words in a language Dean didn’t recognize, and Dean froze in mid lunge – completely paralyzed. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, struggling uselessly against the hold Cam had on him. “Let me go, you bastard.”

Cam’s features blurred, shifting and changing until nothing of Campbell Erickson remained. What appeared in his place was a female form – smaller, and wearing a familiar white nightgown. Gold hair spilled around the well-loved face.

“Mom?” Dean asked, stunned and heartsick. He’d been royally played, and the game was about to end in one of the worst ways he could possibly imagine.

“Not precisely,” the creature – demon, angel, or something worse, Dean couldn’t begin to guess – said, getting to her feet and coming to stand just in front of him. Without meeting his eyes, she placed a small hand over his heart.

Fire spread through Dean’s chest – a burst of agony that tore a wordless scream from his throat. He had a moment to appreciate the irony of dying at the hands of something wearing his mother’s face, before the pain was gone and the force holding him in place vanished.

Staggered, Dean dropped back to the bed, clutching at his chest. “What the fuck did you..?” His question was interrupted by the rushing sound of wings filling the room.

“I removed the protective signs Castiel carved into your ribs,” the being said, as Zachariah, Michael wearing the face of John Winchester, and Castiel all appeared in the room. Castiel held the Sword of Lucifer unsheathed in his hand.

It was a trap. It had been a trap all along, and in his desperation Dean had walked right into it. “Very good,” he said bitterly, locking eyes with the creature wearing his mother’s face. “You get to keep me alive, but this whole world is going to slide into hell before I say yes to you sons of bitches.”

“Dean!” Castiel said sharply.

“What!” he snapped, rounding on the angel. A moment later he realized where Cas – where all of them – were staring.

Nestled in the hollow of his chest, the amulet – _his amulet_ – had started to glow.

*********************************************************


	3. BOOK THREE: DELIVER US FROM EVIL

Chapter One: _The Hour Before Dawn_

Sam Winchester had wondered more than once in recent months how much horror the human brain was capable of absorbing. He’d been witness to so much agony, told so many times how it was in his power to stop it, that the guilt alone at times had been enough to destroy his sanity.

Now, face down in the sandy earth, Lucifer’s foot on the back of his neck pinning him in place, Sam suspected he was about to experience that limit first hand. “You think this is some kind of fucking game, Sam?” He leaned harder on his foot, pushing Sam’s face deeper into the sand.

Sam didn’t dare reply – didn’t give into his first impulse, which was to laugh. Breathing without inhaling too much of the salt-laced sand was becoming a definite challenge.

“Undo the deal. Nice. Think you can use that pre-law education to trap me? Me?” He twisted his foot – Sam groaned as grains of sand scraped his cheek raw. “It took God himself to trap me, Sam. God. You’re many things, human…but you’re not God.”

He snapped his fingers three times – each time accompanied by a small woof of air as something materialized in the prison. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see what Lucifer had brought to bear against him this time.

“Get him on his back,” Lucifer snapped. The pressure against Sam’s neck vanished as he lifted his foot. “Hold him down.”

Sam was too weak and disoriented to resist as two of Lucifer’s demons grabbed him; rolling him onto his back. Each one grabbed him by a wrist, stretching his arms out as far as they’d go before pinning him to the ground.

Lucifer’s boot nudged his cheek. “Open your eyes, Sam. Don’t be petty.”

Knowing there was little to be gained by being stubborn at this point, Sam did as he was told. “No,” he moaned softly, seeing who was crouched at Lucifer’s side. Madison…in her werewolf form this time, not her normal human shape.

“You thought she was an illusion?” Lucifer asked, idly threading his fingers through her glossy black fur. “Oh, Sam – suicides don’t go to heaven. You should know that. Dear Madison has been at my side since the day you pulled that trigger.”

The werewolf rubbed her cheek against the fabric of Lucifer’s pants, eyes closed in lupine bliss. Sam winced at the sight. “She doesn’t know any better,” he said, his voice tight and broken. “Not right now.”

The werewolf growled at him, and in spite of himself Sam shivered in fear. Smiling, Lucifer leaned down and kissed her fur. “You know what to do, pet,” he said.

Turning her face up briefly, the werewolf licked Lucifer’s face. When her head swung back down, and Sam was in her sights once more, a single leap landed her lightly on his chest. _No…_ he thought, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t think she would tear his heart out either by instinct or on Lucifer’s orders, but he realized in a rush that he was strangely okay with the idea if she did. _Only fair, after all._

“You see,” Lucifer said as Madison’s claws tangled in his shirt front, “when those teenage wannabes pulled that body switching stunt on you last year, one of my demons almost had it figured out. She was going to force the idiot inhabiting your meat suit to say yes to me.”

The werewolf jerked her hands apart, ripping Sam’s shirt open. He bucked reflexively, but he couldn’t shake loose of either Madison or the demons pinning him down. “It wouldn’t have worked, of course,” Lucifer went on as if nothing strange had happened. “I need your consent, not the consent of whoever is driving your body around at the time.”

The werewolf’s claws rested lightly against Sam’s chest. _Here it comes,_ he thought, bracing himself for the first cut. He couldn’t reconcile getting his heart ripped out with whatever Lucifer was babbling on about, but he supposed in a few moments it wasn’t going to matter anyway.

“The idea of having one of my demons possess you has merit, however.” Lucifer leaned over him, distracting Sam momentarily from what Madison was preparing to do. “Only one problem. I need somebody who isn’t precisely a demon to help me get past that tattoo of yours.”

Sam glanced down, catching a glimpse of his anti-possession tattoo at the edge of his vision. _Not the heart, then,_ he thought - strangely calm as the werewolf’s claws bit into his skin.

*********************************************************

The amulet was glowing – a soft, white light that filled Dean’s eyes and warmed his soul. _God,_ he thought, glancing up at the thing that looked like his mother. _I’m looking at God._ “Bout time you showed up,” he said; wincing inwardly and silently cursing the words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

“Dean,” Cas hissed reprovingly. Dean glanced at the angel and saw that Castiel and Zachariah had gone to their knees. Michael was still standing on his left, but even his head was bowed respectfully. Dean suddenly realized that in addition to being the weakest person in the room, his seated position was a lot more subservient than he was comfortable being right now. Unable to suppress a small grunt of pain, he pushed himself to his feet.

God watched him impassively. When Dean was steady on his feet, the image of Mary shifted again suddenly – becoming John Winchester as Dean had always known him.

Turning away from Dean, God went to stand in front of Michael. “Leave,” he said. “I will deal with you and your brother Lucifer separately from the rest of this business.”

Michael’s bow was deep, his tone respectful. “Yes, Father.” Dean blinked, and the archangel was gone.

God spun on his heel, his attention going immediately to the angels kneeling quietly on the far side of the room. “Zachariah.”

The angel scampered to his feet, bobbing his head in nervous respect. “Yes, Father.”

“You will retrieve Sam Winchester from Lucifer’s custody.” Dean hissed in a breath, surprise and a cold fury stealing over him at the assumption that Zachariah of all people was in a position to do anything where Sam was concerned. “You will bring him here, safe and unharmed.”

Stunned, Zachariah opened his mouth, then closed it – obviously thinking better of what he was about to say. “My Lord,” he said finally, “you surely don’t mean to hold me responsible for what Lucifer may have done to the boy?”

Dean shivered at the expression on the avatar’s face. “You made it possible for the boy to fall into Lucifer’s custody in the first place.”

Memory washed over Dean, of that last fight in the Nevada desert. A shining figure sneaking up behind Sam – he’d assumed all along it had been one of Lucifer’s minions. The idea that it had been Zachariah…that one of the so-called good guys had been responsible…

With a last, guilty look at Dean, Zachariah vanished.

“If I have any say in what happens to that guy…” Dean started. God waved him off.

“Zachariah’s transgressions are mine to deal with.” Dean half expected him to move on to Castiel, but suddenly God’s attention was fully back on him. “You have questions?”

Dean thought for half a second about the identity of the being now wearing his father’s face, and decided that he didn’t care. “Actually I’m still kind of stuck on the fact that you’ve been running my ass through that New Age obstacle course for weeks, when you knew where Sam was the whole time.”

Castiel made a small warning sound in his throat. 

***************************************************

His anti-possession tattoo – Sam wondered briefly, before pain lit up his nervous system and drove all coherent thought out of his brain, just how many other weaknesses Lucifer would end up finding to exploit on him.

 _Human._ He’d spat the word like it was the worst of insults. _That’s what you are,_ Sam thought. _He’s been sucking up to you for months, telling you how special you are, and really you’re no different than any other human on the planet._ He needs something from you, but he’ll happily destroy you to get it.

The werewolf’s claws ripped through skin and muscle – cutting across the image of the flaming pentacle. A shiver of mystical energy threaded around the pain of the wounds, sparking across his nerves as the magic was broken. Sam screamed – a hoarse, raw, broken sound – and thrashed against the grip of the demons holding him down.

The werewolf bent her head, tongue lapping at the blood now running down his chest. It was a different sort of pain – knife edged instead of brain blowing – bringing tears to Sam’s eyes as he struggled to breathe.

“Kill me,” he whispered through gritted teeth. The werewolf lifted her head, cocking it curiously to one side like any one of a number of dogs he’d seen in his life. “If you ever loved me at all, please kill me. Take my heart, Madison – please.”

He imagined for a second that he saw a flash of awareness in her eyes – some spark of Madison buried deep beneath the animal instinct. Sam struggled to deepen that connection, to will her to understand that he needed her to do this – as much as she’d needed him all those years ago.

Just as suddenly, it was gone. The werewolf sneezed – a very dog-like sneeze, and leapt off Sam, loping back to Lucifer’s side.

The Devil absently caressed her fur. “That was sweet,” he said. “It didn’t have the epic doomed romance aspect your little fantasy trip to see your brother had, but it definitely scored higher on the pathos scale. Russian judge gives it a ten.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. “What now?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking at Lucifer again.

The Devil loomed over him. In the span of a dozen heartbeats Sam imagined ten different ways he could kill Lucifer, and realized as soon as the thoughts entered his mind that Lucifer had seen them all.

“Now?” Lucifer said, “we start by figuring out which one of my children gets to ride you like a Shetland pony. Then? We go visit Dean for real. See if you think my offer is more attractive after I make you torture and murder your own brother.”

************************************************************

Chapter Two: _Salvation_

“Despite what the stories may lead you to believe, Dean,” God said, staring at him impassively, “I am not a forgiving sort. You will live longer if you remember that.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Dean was on the verge of smarting off again when he remembered what was at stake. _You’re going to get Sam back. Getting yourself smote is counter-productive at this point._ “So what happens now?” he asked finally. “You’re about as big a game-changer as they come.”

“You mean am I going to wave my hand and stop the apocalypse?” God shook his head. “No, Dean. You and your brother had free will in the choices you made bringing this whole mess on. Right or wrong, you will need to see this game, as you put it, to the end.”

Dean’s heart sank. _You should have known better,_ he thought. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, however, he’d allowed himself to hope that God’s presence might mean more than the opportunity to get Sam back. He’d hoped there might finally be an end to the ocean of suck they’d been swimming through for so long.

“You’re getting your brother back,” God said. Dean was bitterly amused to see that John’s expression was almost kind. “That’s more than would have happened, under the circumstances.” He paused. “I am also removing the rest of the angels from play. You have free will and must bear the consequences of that. They do not, and their presence is needlessly complicating matters.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, wondering what that would mean for his friend and ally. God looked at the quietly kneeling angel as well. “Castiel is a special case,” he said. “An exception. The problem is that free will leads to questions, and questioning orders is something I cannot allow in my soldiers.”

“He wouldn’t have questioned yours,” Dean said.

God nodded. “It is true that his faith has remained unshaken in the face of many tests. As such, I am inclined to let him choose.”

Dean saw Castiel’s shoulders hunch slightly, and waited for him to actively join the conversation. When he didn’t move further or speak, Dean took up the thread himself. “Choose how?”

“He will need to choose between restoration to his rightful place in heaven, and fully embracing life as a mortal.”

Dean thought immediately of Castiel’s vessel – the mortal named “Jimmy Novak”. Anticipating his question again, God said, “The soul of James Novak has already received its reward, Dean. This human shell has been Castiel’s for some months now, to use or discard as he pleases.”

Dean would have commented further, but the sound of wings filled the room again, half a heartbeat before Zachariah appeared – a bloodstained and delirious Sam in his arms. Even though the sight of his brother in the arms of the angel that had betrayed him filled Dean with a killing rage, he retained enough sense to back away and give Zachariah room to lay Sam gently down on the bed.

Once Sam was settled, Zachariah stepped back – briefly locking his gaze with Dean’s before dropping subserviently to his knees again. God brushed past Dean, who blanched seeing that he now wore the grizzled features of Bobby Singer.

God laid his hand on Zachariah’s head. The angel cringed, but managed not to pull away. “You will go and wait for me. You may consider your duties suspended until I deal with your transgressions.”

Dean waited until Zachariah had vanished before speaking. Every instinct he had was screaming for him to go to Sam, but some things couldn’t wait. “Um…I’m really not looking to get smote or anything, but is there any chance you could not look like that?”

The expression God leveled at him was so painfully familiar Dean drew back, feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest all over again. “Show a little trust, boy. I got a pretty good track record going with the whole omnipotence thing.”

It was a struggle for Dean not to argue with the Supreme Being. Bobby’s loss was too fresh in his heart, and the last thing he wanted Sam subjected to at this point was having to interact with anyone wearing the face of the man they’d both loved like a father. Plus, if he was being completely honest with himself, he had an almost suicidal need to see exactly how much he could unload before God showed any kind of emotion. This sort of Zen calm had been soothing in Campbell Erickson. In the one creature that could have stopped all of the death and devastation he and Sam had been wading through their entire lives at any point, it was beyond infuriating.

God looked at him. “You’re not going to unload on me Dean, because on some level you know how pointless it is. As much as I love you and Sam, and as much as I’ve already bent time and space for you – I have larger concerns than your hurt feelings at stake here.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Omnipotent. All right – I get it. You know everything I’m going to say before I think it.” Once he acknowledged that fact, Dean realized it was easier to let go and shift his entire focus to Sam. Shutting out everything but his brother, Dean went directly to his side.

“Sammy?” _So much blood._ The left side of his chest was covered in it – there was no way to tell how much of it was actually his, or how badly he might be hurt. He was muttering incoherently too, as though caught in a dream or a vision.

“Sam!” Dean lightly slapped Sam’s cheek – not wanting to risk injuring him further by shaking him. “Come on, Sammy – look at me.”

Sam did open his eyes fully then – and flinched away from the sight of Dean as though he’d been hit. “No. No, no, no…not again. I can’t. Please.” He covered his face with his arms, cringing away from Dean.

Genuinely frightened now, Dean managed to grab him by the shoulders and hold him still. “Sam! Snap out of it! It’s me!”

With a burst of strength, Sam threw Dean’s hands off, scrabbling up into a sitting position with his back against the headboard. The sheer amount of terror in his eyes before he squeezed them shut, burying his face against his drawn up knees, tore at Dean’s soul.

“It’s not him. It’s not real. None of it’s real.” Moaning, Sam covered his head with his arms. “Gave you my terms. I gave you my terms, dammit.”

Dean started to say something, but Sam suddenly sat bolt upright, threw his head back and screamed – a sound that was part rage, part grief. “Kill me you coward! Just fucking kill me and get it over with!”

Panicked, Dean looked around for help. God had finally allowed Castiel to rise to his feet, and the two were engaged in a whispered conversation. With a brief look at God, Castiel shouldered past Dean – getting in between Dean and Sam.

Dean started to protest being shoved aside, but God grabbed him by the arm; shaking his head. “Let him do this for you. He wants to.”

 _If you can’t trust God, who can you trust?_ Still, after all this time it was hard leaving Sam’s health and sanity to anyone else. He watched as Castiel pressed a hand against Sam’s forehead, and his heart ached at how terrified Sam seemed to be – even of Cas. _What the hell did Lucifer do to him?_

 _As hard as you think this was for you,_ God said, speaking directly into his thoughts, _it was unimaginably worse for him._

*********************************************************************

Light and warmth filled Sam’s mind, softening the pain and fear that had nearly consumed his soul. Gradually he began to be able to sort out what he was seeing. “Cas?” he asked, trying to wrap his brain around the reality of the angel tending to him. “You’re alive?”

“I have never stopped being so,” the angel said, taking his hand away from Sam’s skin. “How do you feel?”

Sam thought for a second, then nodded. “Better.” He paused, unsure whether he should ask the question or not. “Is this…is this real?”

Before the angel could say anything, Dean pulled him out of the way. “Lucifer’s not running the show anymore,” Dean said, taking Cas’s place at Sam’s side. “We got some last minute help. You’re safe.”

 _We go visit Dean for real. See if you think my offer is more attractive after I make you torture and murder your own brother._ The memory of Lucifer’s final words to him was the last thing that came to Sam while he was still in control of his own body.

“No…” was all he managed to get out before the oily blackness that Lucifer had infected him with rose up and crowded him back into a tiny corner of his own mind. Sam watched from a distance, powerless to stop himself from raising his left hand and sending Dean flying across the room to hang suspended against the far wall.

The demon inside him looked at Castiel, who was already moving to intercept. “I will crush him, Angel. Do not test me on this. You are not strong enough to stop me.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, drawing Sam’s attention again. His brother was struggling angrily against the demon’s hold, glaring at the room’s only other occupant. _Bobby?_

 _It has to be another one of Lucifer’s tricks,_ Sam decided. It was the only way he could rationalize the hunter’s presence in the room. The thought was oddly comforting.

“If you’re so fucking omnipotent,” Dean was yelling now, “fix this!”

_That made no sense at all._

Before Sam could work it through, however, Castiel had grabbed him and slapped a hand to his forehead again. Where the light that filled his body before had been soothing and warm – now it was like being bathed in acid. Sam screamed, his body going rigid as Castiel drove deep and ripped out the demon that had him in thrall.

The pain was beyond anything Sam had ever imagined, and seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t see…couldn’t move…he was barely aware he was still breathing.

Finally, though, the fire pulsing through him started to fade. Sam collapsed boneless in Castiel’s arms. He wanted desperately to pass out – to escape – but something forced him to hold onto the few threads of consciousness he could grab.

There was a flurry of activity going on around him – shoving and movement and the confused babble of voices. Above them all Sam could make out Dean’s angry yelling.

“Didn’t…mean it…” he mumbled as Cas lowered him back to the bed. “Sorry…”

There were sounds of a scuffle nearby, and then Sam felt a warm, familiar hand on his cheek. “Sammy? Dammit Sam – say something!”

Sam opened his eyes, and everything around him snapped into clear, sharp focus. Dean was bending over him again – whole and healthy, and more importantly…here. Riding a sudden surge of adrenaline, Sam lurched forward and wrapped his arms around his brother.

“Shh, Sam,” Dean whispered, hands gripping Sam tight and sure. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

“You don’t know,” was all Sam was able to get out before he broke down – sobbing into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. Relief, coupled with an awareness of how close he’d come to losing Dean – to losing everything – washed through him.

Dean said nothing, holding on to him, humming wordless sounds of comfort as he cried out his pain and fear and loss.

***************************************************************

Chapter Three: _Grace_

 _What the hell did they do to you?_ Dean wondered again, tightening his grip on his brother. Even if they hadn’t had to just go through Lucifer’s idea of a suicide bombing, the sounds Sam was making spoke of damage going far beyond the physical. “You’re safe,” he murmured, stroking Sam’s hair. “It’s going to be okay – I promise.”

He didn’t have the first idea how he was going to keep that promise, particularly in light of the Divine revelation that things hadn’t gotten all that much better on the cosmic scale. Dean knew he had to say something; otherwise he was going to start screaming and crying too.

Eventually Sam’s sobbing began to taper off, and he started to relax. “You with me?” Dean whispered.

Nodding, Sam sat up – starting to pull away. Dean reluctantly let him go. “I’m sorry,” Sam said, his voice hoarse and broken. “I didn’t realize about the demon until…”

Dean smiled sadly. “Don’t.” Reaching out with his thumb, he wiped the tears off Sam’s cheeks. “You’re safe now. That’s all I need to know.”

Panic lit Sam’s expression then, and he groped for where the worst of the blood had been on his chest. “Dean…”

“Cas healed you,” Dean said. “You’re okay.”

“It’s over, Sam,” Castiel added. “You are no longer possessed, and I have restored your protective mark.”

It was then that Dean realized the three of them were alone. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked.

He thought he saw a hint of a glare in Castiel’s expression. “You should have been more respectful.”

Even though he suspected Cas was right, Dean was finding it hard to care. He shrugged. “Did you guys get things settled?”

“I have chosen to return to my place in heaven,” Cas said. “There is work to be done there, and now that God has decided to take things in hand again…”

“Wait a minute,” Sam interjected. “Hold on. God?”

Dean grinned mischievously. “Yeah. You just missed him.” He paused. “Her. Him. Kind of flexible in the gender choices.”

Sam blinked. “I have got to be hallucinating again. So it’s over? It’s really over?”

Dean sobered. “Not exactly.” Before he could elaborate, Castiel cut him off.

“The important thing is that the two of you are finally safe from Lucifer and Michael.” He looked at Sam. “The apocalypse will still play itself out, but God has…leveled the playing field somewhat.”

“I still don’t see why he can’t just snap his fingers and bring everybody back in line,” Dean scowled. He knew he was being petty and stubborn, but it had been a really long night on top of several really long weeks.

His mood wasn’t helped when understanding immediately lit Sam’s expression. “Because it’s still about free will, Dean. Destiny aside, we had choices to make and we blew it. We still need to see the consequences through to the end.”

Castiel nodded. “Angels, on the other hand, are not about free will. Michael and Lucifer’s battle and your part in it were to give you some perspective on what was really at stake.” He paused, looking directly at Dean. “You needed to understand that it wasn’t an either/or proposition.”

 _That_ stung. Dean dropped his gaze briefly, wondering if Sam felt as embarrassed as he suddenly did. “So now what?” he asked, suddenly very eager to change the subject.

“Now you rest,” Cas said. “Prepare yourselves for the battles ahead.” He leaned towards Sam, whispering something in his ear.

Whatever he’d said clearly startled Sam. “All right,” he said finally. “Thanks for that.”

After a last, impassive glance at Dean, Castiel vanished.

“What’d he say?” Dean demanded as soon as they were alone again. Sam was still shaking his head in disbelief, and it was a moment before he could speak.

“He wanted me to know there’s lube in the bedside table.”

Dean was stunned speechless, his jaw hanging as he processed the absolute surreality of the revelation. Finally he laughed. “I think we were a bad influence on that guy.”

******************************************************

Sam wanted to be the one to lean forward, to press his lips against Dean’s, feel his brother warm and alive against him…feel Dean react to his touch.

He couldn’t make himself move.

_I’m so sorry, Sam. I can’t fight anymore. I’m done. I’m out._

The crack of Dean’s pistol firing echoed across his memory, making him flinch.

“Sam?” Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him just enough to anchor him in the here and now. “Sam, look at me.”

He managed to do as he was told, focusing on the concern in Dean’s eyes. _Help me_ , he thought, feeling the threat of tears again. He didn’t want what Lucifer had put him through to be a barrier between them, but on a very deep level Sam was now wondering if he could ever be with Dean again without that one memory staining everything.

“Talk,” Dean said finally – calm, steady, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Taking a deep breath, Sam once again did as he was told. Leaving out Sarah and Madison and his confrontations with the spirits of their dead – and in Cas’s case not-so-dead – family members, he focused on how Lucifer had made him believe that he’d been able to reach out to Dean, that they’d somehow been together.

“And then you shot yourself,” he said finally. “Right in front of me. I couldn’t stop you.” His voice broke, and he had to swallow before he could continue. “I couldn’t save you.”

Dean listened patiently, letting him get everything out of his system without comment or expression. When Sam was finally quiet, Dean reached across, took his hand in a quick squeeze, and then let it drop.

“You can’t tell me it was all bullshit,” Sam said – realizing that it was Dean who was suddenly having trouble looking at him. “Dean…”

“I’m not leaving you.” And suddenly Dean was looking at him, green eyes full of more emotions than Sam could even hope to parse. “Ever.”

It was Dean who moved then, hooking his hand around the back of Sam’s neck, dragging him in, kissing him with a desperate hunger. He fisted his free hand in Sam’s hair, holding him absolutely still. 

“You’re going to forget what you saw,” Dean said, once they finally came up for air. He cupped Sam’s cheek with his hand, his expression deadly serious. “We’re both going to forget.”

Sam nodded, his breath catching in his throat. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, and then Dean was pulling him in again – kissing him hard enough to bruise. 

“I told you,” he said, tracing the swell of Sam’s lower lip with his tongue. “Forget.”

He wanted to – more than anything he wanted to listen to Dean, to let go…to drown memory of everything he’d seen, everything he’d endured, in sweat and heat and Dean.

_You left me._

Sam shuddered as the sound of the gunshot cracked across his mind again. Dean growled low in his throat, sinking his teeth into the skin over the pulse throbbing in Sam’s neck. One hand tugged at Sam’s belt buckle, fingers deftly working the clasp open. Sam gasped, struggling not to pull away as Dean bit down – sinking teeth hard into flesh until the line between pleasure and pain was almost gone. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back in his head as he surrendered to the sensations washing over him.

He dimly heard the metallic hiss of his zipper, and then Dean’s hand was on his cock – jacking him slow and hard. Sam’s moan of pleasure was laced with a half-strangled sob. _So good…feels so good…_ If this was a trap, if Lucifer took this away from him too, Sam honestly didn’t know if he’d survive it.

Teeth still sunk in his neck, Dean rode Sam backwards until they were both stretched out across the bed. Sam threaded his fingers in Dean’s hair, holding on as the blood pooled and the bruise Dean was making started to ache.

He let go of Sam just before the ache crossed over into genuine pain, eyeing his handiwork critically. Their eyes met. “Mine,” Dean said – the single word laced with another growl.

Sam nodded, his breathing too unsteady to say anything in return.

Satisfied, Dean stood – hooking his fingers in the waistband of Sam’s jeans. Sam retained enough presence of mind to buck his hips up, letting Dean peel him out of jeans, shoes and underwear. His dick was jutting straight out as he relaxed against the covers. Curling fingers around his shaft, Sam stroked himself again; breath hissing between his teeth as the sensations spiked through him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Dean said, licking his lips. His eyes were filled with lust, nearly all pupil in the dim light – and his palm was skimming across the bulge in his own jeans as he watched Sam. “We’ve got all night.”

Sam hitched himself up on his elbows and watched Dean strip out of his own clothes. His movements were quick and purposeful. “Like the show?” he asked, grinning at Sam when his head finally emerged from the tangle of his shirt.

“Oh yeah.” Sam shivered. Dean could talk all he wanted about “all night” – Sam knew it wasn’t going to happen. Not when Dean was looking at him like that. He’d be lucky if they had five minutes before Sam was coming like a teenager. “You know,” he said cautiously, trying his hand at lightening the mood and drawing things out, “we could go onto Vegas after this. Get you in one of those strip shows.”

“Bitch,” Dean said, amusement coloring the word. Sam laughed.

“Jerk,” he countered.

When Dean had toed out of his shoes and skinned off his jeans, he crawled back on the bed – looming over Sam. “Thing is,” he said, “we’re not leaving for a few days. I plan on starting with that ass of yours, Sammy. From there I’ll move on to your mouth, and then I’m going to stop long enough to get the toys out of the trunk. You might not even see daylight until after New Year’s.”

Sam inhaled sharply, realizing the hard way that he’d stopped breathing somewhere around the moment Dean had climbed up next to him. “I’m in,” he said.

Leaning down, Dean kissed him again – open mouthed and slow, his tongue painting the inside of Sam’s mouth with heat. Moaning, Sam turned into him, reaching with one hand at the back of Dean’s neck to pull him even closer. Their hips slotted together, each of them moving into position…steps of a dance they’d been doing for so long Sam couldn’t even remember when it had started.

***************************************************************

God, the sounds Sam was making – Dean was beginning to seriously regret his promise that he was going to take things slow. His cock was already achingly hard, and Sam was grinding against him _…so much friction…_

“Hold that thought,” Dean growled, pulling free from Sam and lurching for the bed side table. The sight of lube in the drawer – exactly where the angel of God said it was going to be – made him pause to shake his head and laugh. 

_Our lives are definitely not like other people’s._

When he turned back, Sam had repositioned himself so that he was stretched full length on the bed, his head and shoulders resting on the pillows. One hand was on his cock again, fisting himself slow and steady as he watched Dean.

“You’re just begging to get tied up,” Dean said, glancing pointedly at Sam’s dick. Sam nodded, shuddering with pleasure.

Smiling, Dean shook his head. “Next time.” Getting back on the bed, he moved himself between Sam’s legs. Locking eyes with his brother, Dean ran his tongue across the smooth skin at the end of Sam’s cock – catching the small strand of pre-come that had already leaked out of the tip and making a show of rolling it into his mouth.

“So good,” he murmured, opening wide and wrapping his lips around the shaft – swallowing Sam deep enough that the head of his cock was nudging the top of Dean’s throat. Sam made a strangled noise that was part pleasure part panic – his hands fisted in the covers as he fought the urge to thrust up hard into Dean’s mouth.

Dean hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as he stroked Sam. More pre-come trickled out, coating his tongue with the barest ghosting of salty tang.

“God, Dean,” Sam moaned. “Not gonna last…”

Dean let him go then, sitting back on his heels. “You’ll last as long as I say you’ll last,” he said. Slicking two fingers, he pushed Sam’s leg up with one hand, rolling his hips until he could see the dark, puckered skin. He pushed in slow past the tight ring of muscle, watching as Sam’s face lit with a mixture of pleasure and relief. “God…oh God yes. Just like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, smiling as he fucked Sam, twisting his wrist and working him open. “I know just what you need.” Thrusting deep, he watched Sam’s face as he hit the sweet spot. “That’s it, Sam. Move for me. Show me how much you want it.”

Sam was writhing against the sheets, almost incoherent with the pleasure Dean was feeding him. His right hand came up off the bed, half-reaching for his cock again before Sam remembered his instructions. He slapped his hand down against the mattress, fisting the sheets as he groaned. “God…Dean…please…”

Dean paused in his stroke, working a third finger in alongside the first two. Sam’s back bowed, and his hands scrabbled for something to hold onto. “Please what, Sammy?” He was teasing a little bit, but Dean knew once Sam was clamped down around his cock, he wasn’t going to last more than a couple of strokes himself.

“Please fuck me,” Sam gasped. “Please. Need your cock…God, Dean…please….”

It was so raw, so needy, that Dean nearly came just from watching him writhe and beg. Sliding his fingers free, he positioned himself with the head of his cock nudging at Sam’s opening. Snapping his hips into Sam’s, he thrust hard and smooth – burying himself as deep as he could. “God, Sam,” he groaned, barely catching himself on one hand “So tight…” He pulled back and thrust forward again – Sam’s hips rising to meet his stroke.

Sam reached up and pulled him down, devouring him with lips, tongue and teeth. Dean kissed him back fiercely, thrusting as hard as he could.

Working his free hand in between their bodies, he circled Sam’s cock, stroking him. Sam’s back arched again, and he moaned into Dean’s mouth. Waves of heat and cold broke over Dean, making him shiver uncontrollably. His hand slid along Sam’s cock faster and faster, slick with pre-come and lube.

Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire – his muscles seized, locking his hips into Sam’s as he finally came. Sam followed him a heartbeat later, ropes of sticky, hot come splashing both of them as Dean struggled to remember how to breathe. His body shuddered uncontrollably, riding out the aftershocks.

When he finally felt confident enough to pull out, Sam hissed, making a high, almost keening sound in the back of his throat. “Too much,” he gasped.

Dean pulled free, and let himself collapse on the bed next to Sam. “Jesus,” he breathed, laughing. “That was…”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

They fell asleep together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and other, thicker things. Sam started to protest that they could get some towels and clean up first; Dean silenced him with a weak thump on the back of the head.

***************************************


	4. EPILOGUE

**EPILOGUE**

A thin sliver of daylight shone through the heavy curtains when Sam finally woke up. His first moment of panic fled in a rush as he registered the reality of Dean in the bed next to him.

 _It’s over._ He still wasn’t sure how or why, or what this meant for their future, but he was alive. He was whole – free of Lucifer’s prison, and reunited with Dean.

Flashes of what he’d endured started sparking through his mind. He held everything at arm’s length as long as he could, until the sight of Dean blowing his brains out came back to him and he couldn’t stop a whimper of protest.

The movement stirred Dean against him. “You okay, Sammy?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes were slitted against the light.

Meeting his gaze, Sam nodded. “Better than okay.” There must have been something in his expression, however, because Dean scowled – eyes opening wider as he hitched himself up on one elbow. “Fuck, Sam,” he groaned, “does that brain of yours ever shut off?”

Smiling sadly, Sam shook his head. “I just…there’s someone I need to call.”

Dean studied him for a long moment, before flopping back down on the pillow. “You want privacy, you get to leave.”

Sam watched Dean until his breathing deepened again. Then he got out of bed, retrieved a towel from the bathroom to sling around his hips, dug out his phone and went onto the balcony.

Raising the handset, he thumbed through the stored numbers.

_Sarah Blake._

He couldn’t count the number of phones he’d had since those brief few days four years gone, and every time he’d changed he’d wondered about deleting Sarah’s number. He’d kept it though – a small talisman against all the insanity. _You don’t even know if it’s good,_ he thought.

He also didn’t know if what he’d seen Lucifer do had any basis in fact, but he knew he was never going to be able to rest until he found out.

_Besides…truth or lie, you need to be able to own what happened and apologize. Otherwise it’s never going to be over._

Decision made, he pressed “send” and raised the phone to his ear.  
*************************************


End file.
